Here But Gone
by Clowns or Midgets
Summary: When a combination of exhaustion and hallucinations of Lucifer cause Sam to lose to control on the road, his physical injuries are only the start. He and Dean will have to travel a rocky path together to recovery, a journey made more complicated by the continued presence of the devil in Sam's mind. AU from 7.16 - Out With The Old
1. Prologue

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for coming on board for another project. Sharing stories is so much more fun with your help. Thank Gredelina1 for helping and supporting throughout the writing process. Thank you all for clicking on and giving this story a chance.**

* * *

 _ **Prologue**_

The headlights of the cars passing Sam dazzled his tired eyes. He blinked wearily, driving one-handed while the other held the phone to his ear as Dean rattled off what he had been doing.

Lucifer smiled at him from the passenger seat. "Need a nap, Sammy?" he asked.

Sam nodded in spite of himself. He did need a nap or, more precisely, a few days in bed. He was exhausted, so much so that his whole body ached and his movements were slow.

"I thought so," Lucifer said. "You look a little sleepy. Why don't you pull over, stretch out and catch some winks? I promise not to disturb you for at least five seconds." He pulled an air horn from the glove compartment and raised it with a grin. "I'll wake you if anything exciting happens."

Sam was losing his mind. He could literally feel it slipping away from him. It wasn't just seeing Lucifer that made him think it; it was the fact that he was unable to concentrate for more than a few seconds at a time. Trying to keep the truck in the correct lane was a challenge.

"I'll give you a break if you talk to me," Lucifer said. "Just a little conversation, that's all I ask. It's lonely, not to mention boring, to watch you and Dean running around after these crappy cursed items and not being able to join in. We used to have such nice chats in the Cage, remember?"

Sam shook his head. They hadn't had 'chats'. There had been threats and torture, screams and pleas, but no conversation. There had never been time for talking there with Michael and Lucifer torturing him every hour of the day.

"See, I remember sharing my deepest desires with you and listening to yours; I wanted to hurt you and you wanted me to stop. It made me feel like we really had a connection. Made for each other, you know?"

Sam corrected the truck slightly in the lane again and gripped the phone tighter in his hand.

Dean was saying something about real estate and Sam's eyes drifted shut. He wished he could talk to his brother, really talk. He wanted someone to understand what was happening to him. He couldn't though. Dean had too much to deal with already, with Bobby gone and Dick Roman still out there. He was—rightly—obsessed, and the last thing he needed was Sam whining.

"Sam? Sam?" Dean's irritated voice broke through his thoughts.

Sam dragged himself back to the call with difficulty. "Yeah. Yeah, yeah. Yeah, sounds good. Keep me posted."

"Sounds good?" Dean said doubtfully. "Are you all right?"

Lucifer cackled, "Sammy's just fine."

His shield of protection broken a little by the sound of Lucifer's laughter, Sam said, "You know they say that sleep deprivation is an enhanced interrogation technique?"

"Yeah."

"Trust me; it's torture."

He ended the call and stuffed his phone back into his pocket then rolled down the window to get some air. It was icy, and it seemed to cut through the exhaustion clouding his mind.

"Sure, that'll work," Lucifer said. "Fresh air is great for clinical sleep deprivation. Really, Sam, you used to be smart. Are your braincells dying off already?" He tapped his chin. "I thought it would take longer."

"Shut up," Sam muttered.

"That's a start," Lucifer said. "Now let's expand. What would you to do make me shut up? Are you close to swallowing a bullet yet?"

Sam rubbed his thumb hard on the scar on his palm. He had no hope it would work as it hadn't since he let Lucifer in, but he had to try something. The cool air was losing its potency and he was slipping into drowsiness again.

"Nope, still here," Lucifer said cheerfully. "Keep trying though. Sooner or later you'll find something that works, right? Like a switchblade to the wrists maybe. That's sure to fix it."

Sam pressed harder, but it didn't even make Lucifer flicker, nor did it wipe away the exhaustion that was dragging his eyes closed. He fought to keep them open, but one blink was impossible to refuse, and his head tilted down.

The blaring of a horn snapped his eyes open. A semi was bearing down on him, headlights flooding his vision. He yanked the wheel to the right, but it was too late. The semi clipped the side of the truck and sent him spinning. The car rotated so he was facing the wrong way and then continued to the guardrail. He was flung forward, and his head hit the windshield with enough force to create a spiderweb of cracks in the glass.

His hands were still gripping the steering wheel and his foot planted on the brake when consciousness deserted him, sending him into darkness.

When he woke, it was obvious he hadn't been out long as the blood from his temple was just reaching the edges of his shirt and soaking into the fabric.

His first thought was escape. He had to get out of there in case the engine went up. He couldn't smell gas or see fire, but he wasn't hanging around to check. He felt for the door and tried to open it, but it was jammed against the guardrail. He looked across at the passenger side and realized he wasn't getting out that way either. The door was crumpled inwards. He was trapped.

He cursed as he assessed his situation. His head pounded and there was a sharp pain in his chest each time he tried to draw a breath. There was no pain below that though, and when he looked, he saw the steering column pressed hard into his stomach. There was definitely no escaping.

Lucifer was sitting with his legs crossed on the hood. Sam could see his silhouette through the shattered glass. He was waving at Sam.

"Figures you wouldn't even let me stay unconscious," he said weakly.

"I was lonely," Lucifer said. "And I let you have a few seconds, didn't I? What more do you want?"

"Some Tylenol would be good right now," Sam muttered.

He could see nothing through the windshield but the shape of Lucifer and the glare of the streetlamp above him. He wondered what had happened to the other driver. Had he crashed too? Was he okay?

"I know I told you to try something different, but I didn't mean drive under a semi," Lucifer said.

Sam ignored him and reached into his pocket for out his phone. His fingers felt the rough edge of cracked plastic, and he closed his eyes and sent up a prayer, "Please don't be broken. Please don't be broken," as Lucifer laughed. He turned it and saw that, though the back casing was cracked open, the screen lit up. He raised his eyes heavenward. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Lucifer said cheerily.

Sam dialed Dean's number and closed his eyes against the pain for a moment as it rang.

" _Hey, Insomnia. How's it going?"_

"Dean, there's been an accident," Sam said, wincing as he tried to draw a deeper breath and felt a stab of pain.

" _What? What happened?"_

"I was hit. Or I hit. Either way I'm trapped."

He heard the worry in Dean's voice as he asked, _"Are you okay?"_

"I'm not sure. My head hurts, and I think I've done something to my chest; maybe a collapsed lung. It's hard to breathe."

" _Jesus, Sam!"_

He could hear movement on the line, people talking and Dean demanding they get out of the way.

"I'll be okay," he reassured. "Could use a little help though."

" _I'm coming. Where are you?"_

"Route 26, just west of town."

"Right outside Sunset Hills Memorial Park," Lucifer suppled. "Convenient, right? They won't have to carry your body far."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and took a painful and constricted breath.

" _Okay,"_ Dean said _. "Break it all down for me. You've hurt your chest and head, what else? Check yourself over for me Sam. Feet? Legs? Knees?"_

Sam twitched his foot. He couldn't feel it, but it was pretty sure it was moving. "They're all fine."

His vision blurred over and he blinked to clear it. He was only mild successful.

"Sleepy time?" Lucifer asked.

"No," Sam said.

" _No what?"_ Dean asked. _"Are they not fine?"_

Sam's head bobbed as he felt darkness wash over him. He forced it back. "I'm tired, Dean."

" _No!"_ Dean snapped. _"You've been awake for nearly three days. You can stay awake a little longer. Is Lucifer there?"_

"Yes," Sam whispered. "He's sitting on the hood."

" _Then talk to him. Focus on him and me, and stay awake. You cannot let yourself fall asleep, Sam!"_

"What if I don't feel like talking?" Lucifer asked. "What if I'm in the mood for a lullaby? I'm kinda tired, too, Sam. We could be bunk buddies again."

Sam's eyes closed against his will and he battled to open them again. "I don't think I can, Dean."

" _Dammit, Sam, you will stay awake!"_

"Yeah," Sam said weakly. "I'll do that…"

His head tilted forward as he lost consciousness.

* * *

 **So… Interested? There's plenty more to come.**

 **The prompt for this story was:** _What if Sam did wake up too late when he fell asleep behind the wheel in 7x16._

 **I'm embarrassed to say I can't find the original prompt so I don't have the name of the original prompter to thank for it. It was the result of a long evening spent trawling very old prompt threads. Whoever you are, I am very grateful to you and I hope you find the story.**

 **I am writing a version of Sam that I've never explored before in the aftermath of this accident and I am hoping you'll enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	2. Chapter 1

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for the super-fast beta job. You're a star. Thank you also Gredelina1 for your support.**

 **The response to the prologue was amazing. You guys blew me away. I hope I don't disappoint with the rest of the story.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter One**_

As Sam's voice trailed off, Dean's heart began to race. "Sam? Sammy! Talk to me!"

There was no response.

The people that Dean had barged through away from the coffee kiosk were watching him. In his hand was still the paper cup of hot cocoa he'd bought as a joke for Sam. He threw it away from himself and people stepped back from it, murmuring disapprovingly as it splashed on the ground.

"Screw you!" Dean snapped at them, turning and walking toward the car park. There were a lot of cars on offer, though none of them were the cheap burners he and Sam had favored since the Impala had been locked down. The fact he was going to be stealing a car in full view of a crowd of people whose attention he had already drawn didn't matter to him. He just needed a damn car so he could get to Sam.

He selected a recent model Chevrolet and looked around for something he could use on the lock. His usual tools were in the duffel with most of his weapons back at the motel.

"Excuse me, son, but is there something you need?" a man asked.

Dean looked at him. He was elderly, probably in his seventies, and most of his grey hair seemed to be gathered in his busy eyebrows.

"Yes," Dean snapped. "I need a car. My brother's been in an accident and I need to get to him."

"In that case you better get in," he said, unlocking the door.

Stunned, Dean reached for the driver's side door, but the man laid a liver-spotted hand on his and shook his head. "I'll drive. You need to have your hands free for the phone."

Not believing his luck, Dean ran around the car and threw himself into the passenger side. The man got in behind the wheel, put on his seatbelt and checked the mirrors before starting the engine. Dean was starting to think he'd have been better off stealing the man's keys and driving himself, or even running to Sam rather than dealing with what was sure to be a slow drive. He was caught off guard though, as the man drove swiftly out of the parking spot and onto the road with blasts of the horn to clear their path.

"Where are we heading?" the man asked.

"He's on Route 27, just west of town."

The man turned on his blinker and then drove recklessly into the flow of traffic. Rather than being worried, Dean was relieved the man seemed to know the stakes.

"I'm Alfred North," he said. "Alfie to my friends and my dear wife Elsie."

"Dean."

"Nice to meet you, Dean," he said. "What's your brother's name?"

"Sam."

He huffed a laugh. "Sam and Dean. That's funny. My Elsie is mad about these books that have brothers called Sam and Dean in them. They're called The Supernatural Books. I tell her they're for the kids, but she loves them."

"Never heard of them," Dean lied.

"Yeah, she loves them. The Dean in those stories came to a bad end though. She cries about it every time she reads the last book, and I tell her to stop reading, but no, she's back to the beginning almost as soon as the tears are dried. I can't complain though. I have my vices, too, though I think spaghetti westerns are a better use of my time. They don't make anyone cry."

Dean thought he would have liked to share a few beers and talk Eastwood with Alfie on any other day, but right now he could think only of Sam. He looked at the cursedly silent phone. The screen was still lit with the connected call, but there was nothing but background noise on the line.

He suddenly realized his mistake. He had kept the line open, but he hadn't called an ambulance for Sam. How could he have been so dumb?

"Do you have a cell?" he asked Alfie.

"Lord no. Elsie hates the things. She says people forget how to hold a polite conversation when those things are glued to their hands. My grandchildren have to leave them at the door when they visit. She has a little basket for them. Organized, that's my Elsie."

Dean look at the phone again. He needed to hang up so he could call 911, but he couldn't bear to let the connection to Sam go. It felt to him that the tentative link was what was keeping Sam there and him from losing himself to panic altogether.

"I can pull over and we can find a phone," Alfie offered.

"No. Let's just get to him," Dean said.

"Okey dokey. Route 27 is a well-used road, though. Someone is sure to have seen it happen."

They turned a corner out of the built-up area and went onto a busier highway.

" _Hello? Is someone there?"_ The voice came from the phone and Dean pressed it hard to his ear.

"Sammy?" He realized, even as the word left him, that it had been a female voice.

" _Uh, no. I'm not Sammy. I'm not sure how to tell you this, but there's been an accident,"_ she said. _"There's a man in a truck that's been hit, and I found this phone in his hand."_

"Is he breathing?" Dean asked eagerly. "Can you check his pulse?"

There was silence for a moment and a rustle on the phone and then she said, _"Yeah, he's got a pulse and he's breathing, but it sounds a little funny."_

Sam had thought he had a collapsed lung, so that explained the sound. Dean was just relieved there was any pulse and breathing at all. Though he had been clinging to hope, the fact Sam could have been lost hadn't escaped him.

Dean drew a breath and a kind of icy calm settled over him. He felt in control and strong as he said, "His name's Sam and he's my brother. I'm heading your way as fast as I can. I need you to do something for me. What's your name?"

"Regan."

"Well, Regan, I need you to call an ambulance."

" _I already have. There's other people here on their phones, so I think they're calling, too. What else can I do?"_

"Tell me what he looks like," he said. "Where are the injuries you can see? Are there any bleeding openly?"

" _He's got a cut on his head and there's a lot of blood on his face and shirt where it's dripped, but I think it's stopped bleeding now. Something's wrong with the steering wheel; it's pressing hard into his stomach. I can't see any more blood, but he's not moving."_

"Okay, I need you to help with that now. Do you know any first aid?"

" _I did a class in school. They taught us CPR and how to put people in the recovery position. I can't get him out though. The door is pressed against the guardrail. The window is open, but he's too big to fit."_

"No, don't try to move him. I need you to try waking him up. Did they teach you that?"

" _I don't think so. I don't remember."_

"I can talk you through it. Pinch his earlobe as hard as you can."

" _I don't want to hurt him,"_ she said.

"We're hurting him for a reason," Dean said. "Pinch it really hard and tell me what happens."

There was silence for a moment and then she said, _"I pinched real hard, but he's still unconscious."_

"We'll try something else then. Pinch his nailbed. Dig your nail in hard. It'll hurt but it's a good hurt. We need him awake."

She drew a sharp breath and then said _, "It's not working. He's not even twitching. What do I do now?"_

Dean didn't know. There was sternum pressure, but he didn't think she'd be able to find the right spot, and with a collapsed lung that could make him worse.

"Just talk to him," he said. "Tell him I'm coming and he's going to be okay."

" _Can he hear me?"_

"I hope so," Dean said. "Just tell him Dean's coming." He heard her repeating the message and he sighed out a breath. "How far out are we, Alfie?"

"We're still a few minutes from there, and it might be longer depending on where on the road he is. I'm going fast as I can though." As if to illustrate his point, he pressed his foot down harder and swerved around a slow-moving truck.

Dean listened to Regan as she spoke to Sam, reassuring him, only cutting off when the sounds of sirens rent the air.

" _The ambulance is here,"_ she said. _"And a fire crew. What do I do?"_

"Give them space and let them work," Dean said. "They'll tell you if they need you to do anything. I'm close now, but please stay on the line with me."

" _Okay."_

"How's it looking for him?" Alfie asked.

"He's still out, but he's not got any really obvious wounds. The less blood he loses, the better, so it might not be so bad. He's a fighter."

"Like the boys in the books," Alfie said with a nod. "Elsie says they're always fighting one thing or another. Tell you a secret; I tried reading them once. I got a couple chapters into the first, but I didn't understand why anyone would want to read so much misery. Elsie said it's what makes them special, but I just don't see it. There's so many good things in the world, why would anyone want to immerse themselves in that kind of darkness?"

Dean never understood why people would want to read about their lives either, or worse, make a TV show about it. There were better things to do with your time and energy than recreate that kind of crap.

They turned onto Route 27 and Dean leaned forward in his seat. They drove down the road a minute or so before Dean spotted the flashing blue lights ahead. There was a cop directing traffic around the spot where a firetruck and ambulance were parked, but people were slowing to rubberneck at the wreck.

"Pull over, Alfie!"

Alfie pulled them to a stop and Dean threw himself out and ran at the flashing lights which were obscuring his view of the truck. On the other side of the road, there was a semi with its hazard lights on. Dean hoped that hadn't been what Sam had hit, as if it was, the wreck was going to be much worse than he was already thinking.

A cop tried to stop him, but Dean snapped that it was his brother, and he was allowed to pass. He saw the truck they'd been using pressed up close against the guardrail on the driver's side, facing the wrong way on the road. It looked as though it had been hit on the passenger side, too, as the door was crushed in. The broken windshield had been removed and was lying on the side of the road. An EMT was lying across the hood, his head and arms inside the cab. There was a young girl leaning across the guardrail and into the cab. She was young; Dean guessed she'd was barely old enough to have her permit. A fire crew was unloading equipment including Jaws of Life. Dean felt sick.

"Sammy!" he shouted.

The girl turned. "Dean?"

"Yeah," Dean said, skidding to a stop beside the truck. He looked through the cavity where the windshield had been, and his heart skidded to a stop. The right side of Sam's face was coated in blood. It had dripped down onto his shirt and soaked the cloth. He was deathly pale, and his face was obscured by the oxygen mask held to his face with elastic.

"They said I could hold his hand," the girl said. "I'm Regan."

"Thanks, Regan," Dean said. He went to the second EMT that was standing beside the car and holding the small oxygen tank. "How is he? I'm his brother, Dean."

"Charles," he supplied and then gestured to the EMT spread across the hood. "This is Billy. We're not sure of his condition right now as we can't get good access. We've got him on oxygen to ease his breathing, as he was having a little trouble."

"Yeah, he thought he had a collapsed lung," Dean said. "He called me after the crash before he passed out."

Charles nodded. "We're not trying to wake him up yet, as he we need him calm. If he wakes in pain and trapped, he might panic. Billy is in there in case he does wake though. We're waiting on the fire crew to get set up so we can cut him out. We're worried about the steering column. It doesn't appear to have entered him, but it's jammed against him so hard that we're concerned for internal injuries."

Dean gripped the side of the truck hard to steady himself and nodded. "Okay."

"How is he?" Alfie asked, trotting up at his side with impressive haste for his age. He peered into the cab. "Oh." He turned to Dean. "Some child of a police officer told me I couldn't be here, so I told him I was your father. Hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," Dean said. "Thanks."

"Thought you might need a little moral support." He shot a look at Charles who was watching them avidly. "You won't tattle on me will you, son?"

"No, sir," Charles said. "But you'll all need to move back when the fire crew is ready."

"Which is now," a fireman said, appearing beside them. He was holding the Jaws of Life ready and behind him were two others. "We'll need some space, please. You've done a good job, Miss, but we need to get him out now, so you can't be here."

Regan reluctantly let go of Sam's hand and stepped back. "What do I do?"

"If you feel you can drive safely, go on back to your car and get yourself home," the fireman said. "If not, move back and let us work. You'll all need to get back." He looked at Dean and Alfie.

"He's my brother," Dean said.

"And you want to be with him," he said. "I understand. But you want what's best for him, too, I'm thinking, and right now that's for us to get him out quickly and safely. You can stay but stand back. Keep yourself safe."

Alfie tugged Dean's arm and said, "Come on, Dean. Let them work."

Dean walked back to where the ambulance was parked. Alfie guided him to sit on the step in front of the open door.

"You want something to drink?" he asked, taking a hipflask from his jacket pocket. "I always keep a little something on me in case of emergencies."

Dean accepted it and took a quick mouthful. It was good brandy. It slipped smoothly down his throat, and he quickly drank more before passing it back to Alfie. "Thanks."

He wanted more, but there was a difference between a jolt of courage and comfort and getting loaded while your brother was trapped in a car wreck.

There was a humming as the hydraulics of the Jaws of Life started and then a crunching, ripping sound as they positioned them at the corner of the cab opposite Sam and began to cut through the metal. It made Dean wince.

Alfie put his hand on his shoulder. "They're doing what they need to do to help him, Dean. And you said he was a fighter."

Dean nodded, trying to look past the EMTs and fire crew to see Sam.

"Think on them boys in those books of Elsie's," he said. "They're always getting into scrapes and they always come out on top—at least Elsie says so. That Dean had a bad end, but Elsie says the story can't stop there. We've just not been told the rest. She likes to think his Sam takes care of it. Your Sam has you, so you can take care of him."

"I need to help," Dean said, watching as they moved onto the back of cab and began cutting it apart, too.

"You will. Best thing you can do to help right now is stay back and let them work." He watched the fire crew for a moment, the one with the machinery cutting the truck cab apart and the others holding the other side in place and said, "They're halfway there now. It won't take much longer, and then you can be with him again."

There was a flurry of movement and Billy turned away from Sam and barked orders at Charles who ran for the ambulance. Dean leapt up and rushed forward. One of the fire crew grabbed him around the chest and held him back, but Dean could see over his shoulder into the cab.

Charles was back and handing Billy a hypodermic and Billy was jabbing it into Sam's jerking arm. It was jerking because Sam was seizing. Dean watched, horrified, as Billy barked an order at the crew to hurry and Sam seized.

The drugs they had given him slowly worked, and his jerking movements slowed to tremors and then stopped.

"We need him out!" Billy barked, holding the oxygen mask tightly to Sam's face.

The fireman that seemed to be in charge nodded and gave swift instructions to his crew and they moved onto the last corner of the cab. The metal creaked and squealed as it was cut through and then they were lifting off the roof and setting it down on the road. Charles leaned in through the open roof to help Sam.

"He's still pinned by the steering wheel," Billy said. "We need that away, too."

"Give us some space then," the chief said.

Billy slipped off the hood and Charlie took his place holding the mask and then attached the electrodes Billy was handing him to Sam's chest. They were connected to a small machine and Sam's heartbeat was projected on the screen in peaks and valleys. It looked fast to Dean, but it was at least there. Billy brought a neck brace and Charlie slipped it carefully around Sam's neck.

The fire crew occluded his vision for a moment and there was the sound of metal being cut again before they pulled back and the chief reached in and pulled out the detached steering wheel.

Billy and Charlie launched into action. Billy ran for the gurney and Charlie climbed into the open cab.

"We're going to need help getting him out," Charlie said to the fire crew. "Lift him nice and easy and get him on the gurney."

"I need to help," the man restraining Dean said. "If I let you go, will you keep back?"

"Yes," Dean said quickly. "Just help him."

Alfie took Dean's arm and held it tightly as the crew crowded around the truck, blocking their view. There were voices calling to each other and Dean heard Charlie's deep timbre saying, "Easy now."

Dean watched as they all moved together away from the truck at what felt like an incredibly slow pace and then someone pushed the gurney into their midst. Sam was revealed at last as they moved away, leaving Billy and Charlie to tend to him. They wheeled him to the ambulance and loaded him inside.

Billy turned back at the door and said, "We're going to Providence Milwaukie. You riding with us or following?"

"I'm coming," Dean said, rushing forward and climbing in with Billy and Sam as Charlie slammed the doors and then climbed in front.

"Hang on a minute, Charlie," Billy called. "His breathing's getting worse. I think the brother's right about a collapsed lung. I need to get a tube in place before we go."

He took a package from the cupboard above the stretcher and unwrapped a long clear tube before putting on new gloves and feeling along Sam's ribs. He opened a drawer beside him and pulled out a small scalpel. He quickly made a small incision in Sam's side and then pressed the tube into place. He gave Dean a reassuring smile. "This will let any trapped air or blood out so he can breath easier," he explained as he taped the tube into place.

"Okay, we're good," he shouted, and the sirens came to life as the engine started and they rumbled away.

It was only as Dean watched Billy swaying to the motion of the ambulance and working on Sam that he realized he hadn't even thanked Alfie. He had gotten him to Sam and saved him from outright despair, and he would probably never see him again.

"Thanks, Alfie," he muttered, hoping that somehow the kind man knew how grateful he was for what he had done for them.

* * *

 **So… Lot's happening in this one. It was interesting to explore the wreck being dealt with through Dean's eyes as a bystander. I've not done anything quite like it before. Hope it came out okay.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	3. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me and Gredelina1 for supporting. Thank you all for reading and reviewing xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Two**_

Sam was unloaded from the ambulance by a waiting trauma team and wheeled away through a door of the hospital. Dean climbed out of the ambulance to follow, but Charles caught his arm.

"You can't go through there, buddy."

Dean looked blankly at him. "Where do I go?"

Charles glanced at the ambulance and then nodded and slammed the doors shut. "Come with me."

He led Dean around the building to the brightly lit entrance and through the doors. There were people waiting on hard plastic chairs with varying expressions. Some looked pained as they held icepacks and bloody cloths to injuries, others looked impatient or tired, and there were the ones Dean felt an immediate affinity with: the shell-shocked and scared.

Charles led him to the desk where there was a woman handing a clipboard to a young man and instructing him on how to fill it out. When she was done she turned to Dean and Charles.

"Ingrid, this here's Dean. We just brought his brother in. Can you help him out?" he asked.

"Of course," Ingrid said.

Charles clapped him on the shoulder. "I've got to move the wagon. You do what Ingrid says and try to stay calm. Sam's in the best possible hands now."

"Thanks," Dean said dully.

Charles walked away and Ingrid handed Dean a clipboard of forms and a pen. "You'll need to fill these out for me," she said. "But is there anything important they need to know to treat him that you might have missed with the EMTs? Any allergies or pre-existing conditions maybe?"

Dean searched his mind and came up blank. "I don't think so."

"Okay then. Take a seat and get these filled out and someone will be with you as soon as there's news."

Dean walked over to a chair near the desk and looked down at the forms. For a second, he just stared at them, unsure of where to start when he couldn't even seem to remember what alias they were using now; it took him a few moments to remember their visit to Frank Devereaux and their new monikers as Tom and John Smith. He'd already screwed up the first name, but he wrote in Sam Smith and then looked to the next question: social security number. He could mark that as unknown easy enough. How many people actually knew their siblings' social security numbers? He marked down Doctor R Singer as Sam's attending physician and gave the address of an office in Sioux Falls. The section for insurance details was just crossed out and marked with 'none'. It was when he got to patient health that he stopped. There _were_ things to mention. Sam had had a fairly serious head injury a while ago when the Leviathan had cracked him with a tire iron. He had the sleep thing going on and the fact he had Satan riding shotgun most of the time. Dean added in the head injury and left the rest blank. They didn't really need to know anyway. It wasn't like they could help with the Satan thing, and he was unconscious now, which was a kind of sleep.

He filled out the rest of the form, adding Bobby's now gutted house as their address, then carried it back to the desk. Ingrid was on the phone, but she covered the receiver to thank Dean and tell him there was a coffee cart in the lobby.

Dean went back to his seat and tried to gather his thoughts. There were things he needed to do, he was sure, but he couldn't think what. He wished there was someone else there. Friend or family that could help him get through this new trauma. He wished for Bobby. He would know what to do and say. He would be able to help. There was no Bobby though, just like there was no John or Mary, Ellen or Jo; Rufus was gone now, and Castiel… what Dean wouldn't give him have him now with his abilities to heal.

But he wasn't. Dean was alone, so he had to suck it up and think.

The truck Sam had been driving when he'd wrecked was stolen, of course, but Dean doubted it would have been reported stolen as it had been found in the roughest district of Idaho they could find, with the keys in the ignition. Dean had joked that it was the owner's fault that they were taking it since they'd been dumb enough to leave the keys in it. Dean didn't think there would be any repercussions from that. They'd be billed for its towing, of course, but they'd be long gone by then and Bobby's mailbox was outside the husk of the old house, so that wasn't a problem either. He did need a car though, and he couldn't steal one and drive it around the hospital. That would have to be his first job.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Garth's number. It rang a few times before Garth answered with obvious happiness. _"Dean! I didn't think I'd ever hear from you again. Thought the hug might have scared you off after our last rodeo. I can be too enthusiastic sometimes. How're you doing? And Sam? He mourning the end of his marriage?"_ He chuckled.

"I need help," Dean said quietly. "There's been an accident. Sam's hurt."

" _Oh, wow. What do you need me to do?"_

"I need a car and some cash. I can't use the cards now because they don't match the names we're using and I can't steal a car from here. Can you help us?"

" _Sure. Where are you?"_

"The Providence Milwaukie hospital, Oregon. We're here as Dean and Sam Smith."

" _It's hospital kinda bad?"_ Garth said. _"Aw, man. Yeah, I can help you, no problem. I'm in North California right now, so I can be with you in the morning. You do what you gotta do for Sam, and I'll take care of the rest. Is there anyone else you want me to call?"_

"There's no one left," Dean said.

There was a pregnant pause and then Garth said, _"I'll be with you as soon as I can. Call me if you're not going to be at the hospital."_

Dean thought of how Sam had looked on that gurney in the ambulance, how he hadn't even winced when Billy had put in the chest tube, the blood on his face and wound on his head. "I think we'll still be here."

" _Okay, man. You stay strong."_

The call disconnected and Dean lowered the phone.

Stay strong. That seemed just about impossible right now. When stuff like this happened, he needed Sam to make him feel strong. Even when he was furious and pushing him away, Dean felt strong when Sam was there. It was that which had stopped him swallowing a bullet in the first weeks after Bobby was killed, Sam's silent but reassuring presence in the cabin. Sam was the one that he needed but it was for Sam that he needed strength.

Dean looked across the room at Ingrid at her desk, and she caught his eye. She gave him a sad smile and shook her head which Dean took to mean that she had no news for him. Dean sighed and ducked his head.

Polished brown loafers appeared in his vision and he looked up into an aged face with bushy eyebrows.

"Alfie!"

"Sorry it took so long," Alfie said, as if he was late for a pre-arranged appointment. "I had trouble getting through the traffic that built up around the accident. Had to detour around town to get back. I called Elsie though and explained what was happening, so I can stay with you as long as you need me."

Dean blinked stupidly. "You're staying?"

He was stunned at the simple human kindness. So few people had been kind to them in their life. Alfie had almost had his car stolen by Dean. He could have called the cops. Instead, he had driven him to the wreck, lied to the cop to be with him, and supported him while Sam was cut out of the truck. Now he was here, ready to stay as long as he was needed. Dean was a stranger to him, and yet he treated him better than most people Dean had ever met.

"Yes, I am." Alfie took off his tweed jacket and laid it on the back of a chair. "Now, how's your brother doing?"

"I don't know," Dean said. "They carried him off as soon as we got here, and no one's been out yet."

He tutted. "That's no good. In my day we took care of people." Dean smiled slightly at the cliché phrase. "I'll find out what's going on," he said.

Dean watched as he walked to the desk and rapped his knuckles on it. Dean couldn't hear what was being said, but Alfie was obviously not happy with whatever it was. He gesticulated firmly at the phone. Ingrid nodded and picked it up. Alfie smiled, satisfied, as she had a short conversation and then listened as she spoke to him. He leaned across the desk to pat her hand and then came back to Dean.

"She's not a bad one after all," he said, sitting down beside Dean. "They said someone will come out and speak to you in a moment. How was he on the journey in?"

"He had a collapsed lung, so they put in a chest tube to reinflate it. He didn't seize anymore, so that's good."

"Very good," Alfie agreed. "Here we go."

A man in pale blue scrubs came to the desk and exchanged a few words with Ingrid who directed him to Dean and Alfie.

"Sam Smith?" he said.

"That's my brother," Dean said. "This is my friend Alfie."

He looked at Alfie. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Doctor North. You've been missed."

"Thank you," Alfie said. "Now, what can you tell us about Sam?"

He turned to Dean. "I'm Mark Halloway, the RN that was on Sam's trauma intake team. Sam is on his way to radiology for a CT now and then he'll be taken down to surgery."

"Surgery?" Dean said hoarsely.

"Yes. He had a collapsed lung, as you know, and we suspect broken ribs. There is also evidence of internal bleeding in the abdomen in addition to his head injury. They're going to investigate the internal bleeding and do the repairs that are required while the neuro team takes care of the head injury. That's what they're doing the scan for now."

Dean felt the color drain from his face. Alfie laid a hand on his arm. "They're helping him, Dean," he said.

"I know it sounds scary," Mark said. "But he's in the best possible hands."

"What do I have to do?" Dean asked. "Is there something I'm supposed to do? Do I…" He raked a hand over his face. "I've never done this before."

When the Impala had been wrecked by the demon, it was Sam that had taken care of it all. Dean had been out of it. When they'd been taken to hospital after the Leviathan attacked them at Bobby's, Dean had done little more than give them Sam's name before they dosed him with morphine and reset his broken leg. He was sure there was something he was supposed to be doing, but he didn't know what.

"It's okay," Alfie said. "All you've got to do right now is be here, isn't that right, Nurse Halloway?"

"Yes, sir," Mark said. "There a separate surgical waiting room you can use if you prefer. It's a little more comfortable, and there will be fewer people. Would you like me to take you there?"

"Is it still on the second floor?" Alfie asked.

"Room 21B," Mark said.

"I'll take him then," Alfie said. "You get back to doing what you do best: saving people."

"Thank you," Mark said. He shook Alfie's proffered hand and then walked away through the swinging doors.

"Come on, Dean, let's get you somewhere a little quieter."

Dean stood and followed Alfie across the room to a bank of elevators on autopilot. His mind was with Sam still. They were doing a CT, which was good, they were checking out the problem fully, but then it was surgery and that was frightening. The abdominal surgery was bad enough, but if there was a brain injury, too, and from the seizure he'd witnessed he thought there could be, it was so much more serious. Sam could be really messed up. He could die even. It happened all the time; people went to sleep and didn't wake up. Had he already spoken his last words to Sam? Was his desperation turned into a harsh command the last thing Sam would hear from him? It couldn't be. There had to be more. There were things for them to do. Like deal with that son of a bitch Dick Roman. They had to avenge Bobby together. Dean couldn't do that without Sam. He couldn't do anything without Sam.

He didn't realize where they were until Alfie opened the door to a small, comfortable room. The walls were painted a pale yellow and there were blue cushioned chairs and a hot drinks vending machine by the door that Dean knew would sell coffee that would either be like dishwater or strong enough to blow your head off.

Alfie guided him to a seat and draped his jacket over the back before sitting beside him. "Would you like something to drink?" he asked.

Dean didn't know whether he meant a coffee or the brandy stowed in his pocket, but he shook his head anyway. He didn't want either.

Alfie looked around the room. "They've redecorated. In my time this was white walls, grey chairs, and out-of-date magazines. Very depressing. I always meant to talk to them about redecorating but I never got around to it."

"So, you were a doctor," Dean said.

"I _am_ a doctor," he corrected. "That's not something that goes away just because you retire. I'm a surgeon in fact. Neuro is my specialty, though I put down the scalpel for the last time ten years ago."

Dean raised an eyebrow. He must have been pretty old even ten years ago.

Alfie chuckled. "I'm not as old as I look, Dean. I was only sixty when I did my last surgery—a brain tumor which was a complete success. They say stress ages you; well, I can't think of much more stressful than saving lives every day."

Dean would have explained how he knew from experience that saving lives was nothing compared to the stress of what he was currently going through, but he didn't have the energy or the unkindness. Alfie was talking to distract him, and for that he was grateful.

"I finally hung up the scalpel because I had a little health scare of my own," he said. "A small stroke. It wasn't much more than a cerebral hiccup really, but Elsie insisted it was time for me to stop. I bowed to her wisdom, as is always best to do in a marriage, and handed in my notice. They were very good about it. I considered doing some teaching for a while, but I decided I had done my bit in the end. Now I have my garden and grandchildren to take care of, and that's me happy."

"Do you have many grandchildren?" Dean asked for want of anything else to say.

"Seven," he said proudly. "I had three children, two sons and a daughter, and my boys had three apiece. My daughter, Alison, was what you might call an unexpected gift; I was forty when she was born. We had no idea until Elsie was six months gone. She thought it was the change. She was a blessing though. I always wanted a daughter, and she completed us. She's got a little girl of her own, Izzy; she's five. Since Alison's a doctor, too, we do a lot of helping out with Izzy. It keeps Elsie young, so she says, and it adds to my wrinkles and hair loss if you ask me. I love her though. There's something special about spending time with children; it reminds you of what life is really about.

Dean nodded. He understood that. He had felt the same when he'd spent time with Ben. There was so much possibility there, and Ben was so smart. Dean could see his whole future laid out ahead of him, and it made him feel as if every fight he and Sam had taken in their lives had been worth it. That was over now, though, Lisa and Ben gone, which was for the best, but he missed the feeling.

"Have you got children in your life?" Alfie asked.

"No, it's just me and Sam. We lost everyone else."

"I'm sorry to hear that. At least you have each other though. That's something."

Dean nodded. He had Sam, and that was everything, but how long would he have him? Sam was going into surgery so they could save his life, but what if they couldn't? What would happen then? There was no Castiel to heal him. Crowley would never allow any demon to make a deal with them. He would enjoy Dean's pain much more. Death wasn't going to help them out again after last time when they'd bound him. There was nothing he could do. How was he supposed to keep going if he lost Sam? How was he supposed to fight alone?

He had no answers to his own questions. All he did know was that a world without Sam wasn't one he wanted.

* * *

Alfie seemed to be one of those people that sensed what you needed and delivered it for you. He spoke sometimes, talking about his wife and family, his life as a surgeon, and other times they sat in silence. He brought Dean a coffee that was like rocket fuel and added a measure of brandy to ease the taste. Dean had never been more grateful for a stranger before. If he had been left alone, he would have lost himself to despair completely, but with Alfie at his side, he felt stronger. He was still scared, but having someone with him forced him to keep control of his emotions and therefore himself, too.

He was turning the empty coffee cup in his hand, bending the paper rim back and tearing the sides, when the door opened. He was expecting to see someone new coming to share the room, as had happened a few times in the night as people had come and gone, but a woman wearing creased scrubs entered. She was wearing a surgical cap and her hair was pinned back in an untidy knot at the nape of her neck.

"Dean Smith?" she asked.

"That's me."

"I'm Doctor Katherine Maddox. Sam's neurosurgeon."

"How is he?" Dean asked.

She came into the room and cast Alfie a quick smile before sitting opposite and resting her hands on her lap. "Sam is stable now. We found he had increased intercranial pressure because of a bleed, and we combated that pressure with what are called burr holes. They have released the excess blood and relieved the pressure on Sam's brain. He is still unconscious, and we're going to keep him sedated in a medically induced coma to allow him to heal. That was the easy part. Sam had a seizure in the CT and that complicated his abdominal injury. He has damage to his liver because of crush injuries and that was exacerbated because of the seizure. Though the only external bleeding he had was the gash on his head, he lost a lot of blood internally, so we are replenishing that with transfusions."

"Is he going to be okay?" Dean asked hoarsely.

"I can't make any guarantees," she said. "My major concern is the head injury, and we've done everything we can for that right now. We're monitoring the pressure and also treating it with intravenous medication. If the pressure builds, it might be necessary to operate again, but Sam is holding steady right now. That's the best we can hope for at this point. Do you have any questions?"

Dean had plenty. When would Sam be allowed to wake up? What would happen to him when he was awake? Was he going to have some kind of damage from all this? What would his life be after? How could this have happened to them after everything else they'd been through?

She would have answers to only some of those questions, and he was afraid to hear them. He couldn't take any more, so he shook his head and asked, "Can I see him yet?"

"As soon as he is settled," she said. "The general surgeon will come and speak to you about his part of the surgery soon; he is just finishing now as my part of the surgery was over sooner than his. When you have spoken to him, you will be able to go to Sam. He will be in intensive care and so visiting may be restricted. I think you'll be okay though." She gave Alfie a pointed look and he nodded and said, "I'll see to that."

"Yes, sir," she said with a small smile. "I need to go now. If you have further questions, ask someone to get in touch with me and I will come when I am able. I will see you again anyway as I am the attending physician for Sam's neurological needs."

She stood and extended a hand to Dean. He shook it and said, "Thanks for what you've done for us."

She bit her lip and then said, "I can't make guarantees, but I have seen your brother fighting hard. You have to hold to the fact he can keep doing that."

"He _is_ a fighter," Alfie said confidently.

"Good. I'll see you again." She slipped out of the room and the door clicked closed behind her.

Dean hid his face in his hands and drew a noisy breath.

"She's very good," Alfie said. "She was one of my best interns. Sam really couldn't be with anyone better."

"You think?" Dean asked.

"I know. And I'll have you taken care of."

"You should go, get back to Elsie," Dean said. "It's so late."

"She'll be okay a little longer," he said. "I'll see you settled with Sam first."

"Thank you, Alfie," he said. "I don't think I could have gotten through this night without you."

"You would have done just fine," Alfie said. "Just like them boys in Elsie's books. Seems to me that you're just as strong as she says they are."

Dean ducked his head. He wished he was a strong as Chuck had written him. He really didn't feel it now.

He was so scared.

* * *

 **So… Sam is out of surgery and the opener of the story is almost over. There is plenty more to tell though, so don't leave yet.**

 **A note about Alfie: He was supposed to be a one scene character. He was going to drive Dean to the wreck and that was all. Then I realized Dean needed someone to support him while Sam was cut out of the truck, and then it seemed obvious that he'd need someone at the hospital. I was also in love with him. He's a character like I've never written before. I fell for him and his Elsie hard. They're going to be in much more of the story. I hope you'll grow to love them, too.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	4. Chapter 3

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for the beta job and Gredelina1 for all your help and support.**

 **You guys love Alfie too! All the reviews I got for the last chapter mentioned him, and that makes me so happy as he has a big part to play in this story, supporting Sam and Dean.**

 **Speaking of reviews, you guys are amazing. For every multi chapter story I post I have a goal of 100 reviews as I think that's a number that will attract more readers, and all I want is for people to read and enjoy my stories. That's a achievement I usually reach well into the story, sometimes near the very end, but this time I am halfway there already. Your support means the world to me and I am so grateful to you that take a moment to share your thoughts xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Three**_

Alfie was not just a good and kind man, he was also a miracle worker. He obviously held a lot of sway at the hospital still, as Dean was allowed to sit with Sam at any time they weren't running checks or tending to him in some other way, despite the posted notices about limited visitation. He was supposed to be with Sam a total of fifteen minutes every hour, but after a short conversation with Alfie, they had told him that he could stay until they asked him to leave.

Dean had heard parts of the conversation Alfie had with them, and he'd heard words such as 'emotional support' and 'giving time when its needed' and he'd tried not to read too much into it. He chose to think he was allowed to be with Sam as a kindness, not as a mercy because he wouldn't have the chance to be with him for much longer. The problem with that belief was the evidence stacked against when he looked at Sam.

He was lying on the bed with wires and tubes coming from him. He was intubated and his breaths were delivered by a ventilator that clicked and hissed. The heart monitor beeped quietly with each beat of Sam's heart. There were two large electrode pads positioned on Sam's chest, and though Dean hadn't asked, he knew they were attached to the defibrillator connected for an instant reaction should Sam's heart fail. He had IV in each hand, delivering the replacement blood and other drugs and nutrition. Around his arm was a blood pressure cuff that inflated at regular intervals and transcribed the results onto the screen. It was always lower than Dean knew it should be. Running from beneath the bandages that wrapped around his head there were a wire and tube that fed information into a separate machine with a number displayed. A white sheet and blue blanket covered Sam to his torso, and the sheet had little less color than Sam himself. His lips, parted by the intubation tube, were tinged blue, as were his fingertips.

A kind nurse had asked if he wanted all the equipment explained to him, but he had declined. He already knew enough to be scared. He didn't need more added to that.

There was no denying when you looked at him that Sam was desperately ill. To even be in the room, Dean had to wear a gown over his clothes and had been schooled on how to scrub his hands properly before he could even touch Sam. The risk of an infection that Sam was too weak to beat was high. Dean didn't mind any of it. If it would help Sam, protect him, it was worth it.

The gown rustled as he reached across the bed to where Sam's hand lay at his side. His intent was to hold onto it, to forge a connection to Sam despite his unconsciousness, but at the first touch of the cold skin, he pulled back. It felt wrong, a visceral reaction to the loss of Sam's usual warmth. Sam had always run hot. In the very early days of their childhood on the road, when he had shared a bed with Sam to cut down motel costs, he'd struggled with the heat of Sam beside him. He was like a human furnace when he slept. Sam was cold now, and it felt wrong. He wondered about covering him higher with the sheet and blanket, but he was mindful of disturbing him at all. He didn't want to nudge the wrong tube or wire and make something go wrong.

He glanced over the bed at the window set into the wall that allowed him to look out into the hall and the doctors and nurses on duty to look in. There were people moving around out there, and one caught Dean's eye. It was Jean, the RN that had instructed Dean on washing his hands and helped him into the gown. She disappeared from the window and opened the door.

"Are you okay, Dean?" she asked, coming half into the room.

"Sam's cold," he said. "His hands. Can we get him another blanket?"

"We can," she said. "Absolutely. But it's not going to really help his hands. It's the blood loss that's making them feel cold. It has affected his circulation. We'll wrap him up a little warmer though. I'll be right back."

She slipped out and the door closed. When she came back, she had a plastic wrapped blanket in her hands. She tore open the plastic and spread out the blanket over the bed. She covered Sam's legs and lifted the sheet and other blanket a little higher up his chest.

"That'll keep him warm," she said. "Do you need anything?"

"I'm okay," Dean said.

She smiled. "I'll be in to run checks in a few minutes, so you'll have a chance to stretch your legs and maybe get some air."

Dean knew that was her kindly way of telling him he needed to leave the room.

"Thanks," he said.

The door opened again and a nurse Dean didn't know the name of yet stuck her head in. "There's someone here to see you, Dean. He said his name is Garth Fitzgerald and that you called him? I've put him in the family room to wait for you."

"That's perfect," Jean said. "I can take care of Sam while you see your friend."

Dean stood and cast Sam a glance before leaving the room. He tugged off the gown and dumped it in the bin outside the door and wandered along the hall to the family room he'd been using when he'd needed to leave Sam. He opened the door and saw Garth sitting stiffly on a chair with a large brown envelope in his hands.

"Dean!" he said, dropping the envelope down and getting quickly to his feet. "I didn't know you'd come straight away. I don't mean to take you away from Sam."

"It's okay," Dean said dully. "They needed me out so they could check him over anyway."

"It's real bad?" Garth guessed. "I mean it's intensive care, so that indicates bad, but how bad is real bad?"

"He's not good," Dean said. "He had surgery last night, and now they're keeping him in some damn coma so he can heal."

"I'm sorry, man. If there's anything I can do, let me know. If you need to talk or punch something or primal scream maybe, I'm your guy. If you need a hug…" He shook his head. "Sorry. That was a bad joke. Obviously so not the time for jokes right now. But tell me what I can do."

"Did you get a car?" Dean asked.

Garth nodded eagerly. "Yeah. It's no '67 but it is an Impala. It's the 2010 model, and though it's not top of the line, even for that year, it's roadworthy. And it's black. I thought you and Sam would like that."

"Did you get a key?" Dean asked. It was probably too much to hope for, but hotwiring it would look suspicious in the parking lot of the hospital.

Garth frowned. "Of course. I got two." He picked up the brown envelope. "It's registered in my name, obviously, but we can fix that when you have time. Just try not to get too many parking tickets." He grinned and then his face fell as Dean just stared at him. "Sorry, another bad joke."

"You _bought_ a car?" Dean asked.

"Well, yeah, how else was I going to get one?"

"By stealing one?"

Garth shook his head. "I know that's how you and Sam roll, but I'm too pretty for prison. I had the money, so I did it all legit. Now, talking money, do you have your bank details so I can transfer some over to you?"

Dean just stared at him in shock. He had bought a car and now he was talking banks. Who was this guy?

"There's some in the envelope, of course, a few hundred," Garth said. "But you're going to need more."

"I am a hunter, Garth. I don't have a bank account. I have stolen credit cards."

"Oh, wow…" He shook his head. "In that case I'll get you some more paper cash. I can leave it in the car for you, save you having to leave Sam again. Is there anything else you need?"

"Our motel room needs clearing," Dean said. "It's got our weapons duffels in it. We're paid up for the week, but if we don't show up there, they might decide to take a look. We really don't need them snooping." He pulled the keycard from his pocket and handed it to Garth. "Can you get our stuff and leave it in the car, too?"

"Sure, no problem. I'll do that now and bring the car back here for you. How much cash do you think you're going to need?"

"How much can you get?"

"Pretty much whatever you need." He shrugged as Dean looked blankly at him. "I'm on good terms with my folks, and my grandparents own a large chunk of Missouri. I can get money, no problem."

Dean frowned. Garth had never come off as someone with access to vast sums of money. He drove a crapped-out Ranchero.

"How can you have money? Your car…" he said.

"It's a classic," Garth said defensively. "The engine needs a little TLC, sure, but she's my baby. Besides, what's the point in throwing money away on something new when it can be used to help rid the world of evil instead. My folks keep me funded because I'm doing my good work."

"They know?"

"Yeah. They were there for the whole tooth fairy thing. They were disappointed when I gave up on my dentist dreams, but they agree saving the world is more important."

"Tooth fairy? Dentist?" Dean said vaguely.

"I like teeth. I might go back to it one day if I ever have to retire. Anyway, I'll get the cash and motel sorted and bring the car back for you. You need some food or a coffee before I go?" he asked.

"No thanks," Dean said.

Garth tipped the envelope and caught a set of keys in his hand then handed the envelope to Dean. "I'll be back soon," he said. He patted Dean's shoulder and then walked to the door and pulled it open. He stopped halfway out and turned back. "I'm really sorry about Bobby, Dean, and I'm sorry about Sam, too."

Dean scowled. "Sam's going to be fine."

"I know," Garth said quickly. "I'm just sorry anyway."

Dean watched the door swing closed behind him and then a surge of anger rushed through him. To hear Sam grouped with Bobby, as if he was already dead, was wrong. He threw the envelope across the room and bills spilled out. He punched the wall and felt the raw pain cross his knuckles.

"He's going to be fine!" he snapped at the empty room. "He's a fighter!"

* * *

Dean was guided out of the room again while Sam was given checks, and he used the time to go to the family room to get himself some coffee. He was running on a day and a half without sleep, and while that was never usually a problem, the emotional stress he'd been through had exhausted him. He drank his first cup down quickly, barely feeling it touching his throat, and then sipped a second. With Garth's money, he had plenty to keep himself caffeinated and fed, though he hadn't eaten yet, certain anything he did eat was going to make him sick. At some point he would need to, and he'd need to sleep, but he wasn't ready yet. He wondered if they'd let him bed down in the family room. He would sleep in the chair next to Sam, but he'd never be able to rest with the constant comings and goings and the sounds of the room.

He drank down the last of his coffee and crumped the cup before tossing it into the trash. His eyes burned with tiredness and he blinked to relieve them as he walked back into the hall, heading to Sam's room. There was someone already outside though, tying the back of his thin gown.

"There you are," Alfie said. "They told me they thought you'd gone for food, but I thought that was a bit optimistic."

"You came back," Dean said.

"Of course, I did. I got a little sleep, had a talk with Elsie, and then headed straight back. I thought you might need a little support." He looked Dean up and down, his eyes resting on Dean's reddened knuckles. "I see you do."

Dean turned his hand to hide the evidence of his anger. "It's nothing."

"Did it help?" he asked.

"Not even a little."

"Then I guess you won't be doing it again," he said. "Now, get yourself gowned up and we'll go in to see Sam."

He held out a plastic wrapped gown and Dean tore it open and pulled it on. Alfie tied the back for him and then, with a nod to Jean, opened the door and gestured Dean inside. Dean knew that there was only supposed to be one visitor in the room at a time, even within usual restricted visiting times, and he thought Alfie must have used his influence and charm to lift the restriction for himself, too. Dean really didn't know what he would have done without him.

Dean went straight to the chair beside the bed and sat down while Alfie pulled one from against the wall to place beside Dean. He didn't sit though. He walked to the monitors beside the bed and examined them with his hands held behind his back.

"How's he looking?" Dean asked.

"He's stable," Alfie said.

"His blood pressure is low," Dean pointed out.

Alfie nodded. "And his ICP high and heartrate a little fast. It's all to be expected though." He went to the end of the bed and picked up the clipboard chart there. He flipped it open with a practiced movement and turned the pages. "They're doing all the right things. They have him on mannitol and dobutamine. The transfusions are making a difference and his CBC is coming up. His GCS is low, but you would expect that with his sedated state. It's all as I would expect." He flipped the clipboard closed and set it back in the holder at the end of the bed before taking a seat.

Dean didn't even try to make sense of what he had heard; he just watched Sam's chest rise and fall with the rhythm of the ventilator.

"Did you understand much of that?" Alfie asked.

Dean shook his head without looking at him.

"Do you want to understand?"

"I guess," Dean said. "I probably should know so I can keep a better eye on him. I know wound treatment better than any other medicine really. The rest I know comes from TV."

Alfie scoffed. "Let me guess, that Doctor Sexy show. People watch too much of that and think they're magically a doctor. They get a headache and think it's a tumor. They have a stomachache and its cancer."

Dean nodded agreement, not really listening.

"Well then, let's educate you," Alfie said. "Sam's ICP—intercranial pressure—is running at twenty-five. Ideally, it would be between five and fifteen. He's had a head injury though, so I imagine it's coming down from what it was before. That's what the mannitol is doing. The low blood pressure is being treated with bolus fluid and dobutamine, and that should help the heart rate, too. The GCS…"

"I've heard of that one," Dean said.

"It stands for the Glasgow Coma Scale. It scores between three and fifteen, with fifteen being you or I right now. Sam is scoring three, which sounds bad, I know, but it's what I would expect with the medically induced coma. We don't know how much of that is sedation and how much his injuries, but it's not a concern right now. When he's ready, they will taper off the sedation and then it will be very important. As for the liver, they've done the repair, and he's not showing signs of further complications."

"What would complications look like?" Dean asked. Now he was told this stuff, scary as some of it was, he wanted to know more so he could really help Sam. If there were things to look out for, he wanted to know them.

"Jaundice would be a big one," Alfie said. "That's yellowing of his eyes and skin. Swelling is another. If his hands or feet start looking puffy, I'd be concerned." He lifted Sam's right hand from the bed and manipulated his fingers. "They look fine though. I know the cyanosis looks bad, but that's the blood loss. As soon as his CBC is back to normal, that will be gone."

"This is a lot…" Dean said.

"A lot to handle, yes. But it seems to me that you're just as strong as you say Sam is. As long as you take care of yourself while you're taking care of him, you'll be able to handle it. And on that note, I have a message from Elsie—You need to rest, too, so you're going to come home with me and get some sleep. We have a guest room that the grandchildren use when they're visiting, and the room's yours for however long you need it." He nodded to himself as he finished. "Message delivered. I'm sure you've got your own place to stay, but the fact you're here alone makes me think you'd be going back to an empty house. You don't need to be alone as well as scared, so come to us. Elsie is making a pot-roast, and she's a wonderful cook, so that'd be a treat for you." He took a breath then said, "Now it's your turn. Tell me why you can't come sample my wife's delicious cooking."

Dean sighed. "I'm sorry, Alfie, and tell Elsie I am, too, but I can't leave Sam like this. I need to be here when he wakes up."

"He's not waking up yet, Dean. They've got him under sedation."

"I know, but…" He still couldn't leave. Sam might need him. He had to watch him now he knew what to look for. He had to keep him safe.

"You still can't leave," Alfie said, sounding disappointed but resigned. "I will explain to Elsie. You're going to have to meet her sometime though, you know. She's tickled that you're called Sam and Dean, and she's a natural caretaker."

"So are you," Dean said. "Why are you helping me so much, Alfie? It's not that I don't appreciate it, I really do, but I'm a stranger to you. I tried to steal your car even. You're here with me now though, and you've made them let me stay in the room with him. Why would you?"

Alfie considered his words for a few moments before answering. "I told you I'm still a doctor, and I am. I became one because I wanted to help people, and you, Dean, need help. Right now, you're my patient, and I am going to treat you. I prescribe rest and food. You can't come home with me, and I understand that, but you can eat the food I bring you, and you can catch some rest in the family room. Even I wouldn't be able to persuade them to let you sleep in here. Let me visit with you both a while, and then I'll go home and see how Elsie is doing with dinner. When it's ready, I'll bring you some and then you can eat that and rest. We can make sure they know to wake you if _anything_ changes. I can even get hold of something to help you sleep if you need it."

Dean held up his hands. "No. I can't be drugged if he needs me."

"Then we'll count on your exhaustion to do it." He hesitated. "Is there really no one else, Dean? No one I can call to help you?"

Dean shook his head. "There was someone that I already called, but I don't know if I'd even call him a friend. I only met him once before. He helped me out though, but he's not the kind of person I would want here now. Everyone else is gone."

"You've lost a lot, haven't you?" Alfie said.

"Yes," Dean said, seeing the faces of the many people that had lost and how much he needed some of them there right now, thinking of how scared he was that Sam's face would join theirs.

"I'm sorry," Alfie said. "I don't who they were or what happened, but I know they would want to be here with you now if they could."

"I don't know about that. I'm the reason some of them aren't here."

Alfie shook his head sternly. "I don't believe that for a minute. Maybe things happened around you, but that doesn't make them your fault. You're a good man, Dean."

"How do you know?" Dean asked.

"Because I can see how much you love your brother and how scared for him you are. No one that can feel like that can be a bad man. I told Elsie about you, and she said you sound just like the Dean in her books. He did everything he could for his brother, and I know you would, too. You are a good person."

Dean shook his head. Alfie was a good person, a great one, but he didn't understand Dean. He didn't know how many people Dean had let down in his life: Sam included. It was the Lucifer thing that had made Sam crash the car, he was sure, and if he had been a good man he would have done something about it sooner. He would have fixed Sam before something so terrible could happen.

He had failed Sam, again, and as he looked at Sam lying supine on the bed, he knew he couldn't let it happen again. He couldn't lose him as he was all Dean had left.

* * *

 **So… Sam's still sleeping and Dean's slipping. It was great to write Garth though. I rarely have a chance to explore his character. I thought the idea of him coming from money but choosing to use it to hunt suited him. What do you think?**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	5. Chapter 4

**Thank you Jenjoremy for beta'ing this chapter for me. Thank you also Gredelina1 for all your help and support. Thank you all for reading and reviewing xxx  
**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Four**_

Dean was sleeping stretched out on one of the couches in the family room. It was his seventh night in the hospital, and he had developed a routine. He spent as much of the day with Sam as he could. He tried to time up his visits to the bathroom and eating breaks with Sam's checks, when he would have to leave the room anyway. Alfie came twice a day. In the late morning he would bring Dean sandwiches and a Tupperware of whatever Elsie had cooked the day before for him to eat in the evening. He came back in the evening with a breakfast offering such as cold pancakes, waffles, and one time fresh fruit that Dean had eaten only out of politeness and to be able to tell Sam he'd been healthy while he'd been sleeping.

The staff on the ICU allowed him to use the fridge and microwave in their break room to store and heat his food, and he was able to use their coffee machine to save himself from ingesting the rocket fuel in the vending machine. They'd also given him a space in their locker room, so he didn't need to go out to the car to get clean clothes or his washbag, as he couldn't take it into Sam's room; everything in there had to be carefully restricted to protect him from infection. He'd taken a shower in their on-call bathroom once, but he'd felt it had taken too long, so he satisfied himself with cleaning up with a washcloth and giving his hair a quick shampoo in the sink. He made sure to keep himself clean though, not wanting to bring any germs near Sam while he was so weak.

He was beyond grateful to everyone there for how they were helping him. It was more than Alfie and his help; it was all the staff helping Sam. The nurses never ordered him out of the room; they guided him out with suggestions so he felt that it was choice rather than need. They explained things to Dean that he didn't understand already, giving him the feeling of some control and knowledge to help. They asked him what he had seen and noticed about Sam before they did checks. The doctors went through each stage of his treatment with him, and when he was ready to hear it, explained the details of the damage Sam had sustained and what it meant for him and the possible risks—things that Dean wasn't able to think about for long—such as the fact he might need to forgo 'contact sports' for a while after he was recovering. Dean knew sports weren't a problem, but hunting was as high contact as it got. Sam wasn't going to be happy if he needed to take a backseat from the Leviathan problem. Though they were both out of the game for now.

The Leviathan cause had been taken up by a group of other hunters. Annie and Garth were at the helm with Frank Deveraux. Frank wasn't happy with Dean. His hideout had apparently been raided one day while he was out getting food. He told them that he'd come back to find it rolled and all his expensive equipment trashed. Thankfully, Frank's backup files had backups, so they'd not lost any of the information they'd accumulated, though Frank had lost a lot of money. He was now living on what Garth called his safe houseboat with a hunter guard at all times. Dean was relieved someone was working the problem, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that it needed to be him and Sam that ended Dick properly. It was more than avenging Bobby; it was the fact he felt like it would only ever be really over if they were the ones to make the killing blow.

But things were controlled for now, people were working the problem, and Sam seemed as stable as he could be, which was why it was such a shock to Dean when he heard the code being called in the night.

He jerked awake and rolled off the couch and to his feet, tangling his legs in the blanket that had been covering him. He yanked it away, almost falling, and eventually managed to get free. All the while he could hear the code call.

It wasn't as loud as he thought it should be; its design was to notify but not panic. It panicked Dean though. He had heard it before on the ICU, as there were eight beds and they were all filled with desperately ill people. It had never been Sam, but he was always scared by it, even if he was with Sam at the time. The tenuous connection these people had with life was brought home to him each time.

He rushed to the door and ripped it open. His mind was telling him it wouldn't be Sam, he'd been stable when he'd left him, and the man two rooms down from Sam had already coded once that day, but he had to be sure as his fear was telling him something else.

He rushed into the hall and panicked as he saw Sam's room door swinging closed as someone entered. He ran to it and was caught by an orderly whose name he couldn't remember in that moment.

"You can't go in there, Dean," he said. "They need space."

"But it's Sam!"

He's not coding. They used the call to get people in there. He's just seizing.

 _Just_ seizing? There was no just about it. Sam was in trouble.

He was tugged over to the window and he looked inside.

Sam was convulsing on the bed and the machines were flashing alarms. His feet hammered against the thin mattress and his back arched. It was even more terrifying than the one he'd witnessed at the scene of the wreck. There were people around the bed, and one was squeezing a bag attached to the breathing tube in Sam's throat. As Dean watched, a man pushed a syringe into the canula on the back of Sam's right hand and depressed the plunger. Dean waited, holding his breath to see if it would work, but Sam's limbs continued to jerk violently.

"Come on, Sammy," he whispered. "You can do this."

They pushed through another dose of medication and Dean willed it to work, to stop the seizure and save Sam from the damage he could be doing to himself.

Sam's movements slowly eased until he was supine on the bed again. They quickly launched into action, checking his IV lines and exchanging the Ambu bag for the ventilator tube.

"There, see, he's through it."

Dean remembered now that the man with him was called Eric. He'd met him and spoken to him before. It was panic that had driven the name from him.

"Thanks," he said.

"No problem. Do you want to get gowned up so you can go in when they're done?"

Dean nodded and moved to the cart to grab himself a gown. His hands felt slow and heavy as he tore open the plastic, and he was grateful when Eric helped him into it and tied the back. Dean waited until the two nurses came out of the room, and then, at their prompting, he entered the room. Doctor Bennett was filling out the chart on the end of the bed and he nodded at Dean when he entered and lowered his pen.

"Dean, is there anything you need to ask me?"

"Why did it happen?" he asked. "Was it his ICP?"

"No. Actually, that is at a better level now." He pointed his pen at the monitor and Dean saw that it displayed eighteen. "I believe this is a side-effect of Sam's brain injury. As you know, we haven't been able to check his cognitive state as we've been keeping him sedated, but this second seizure indicates that there is going to be some alteration to him from it."

"You mean he might have brain damage?" Dean asked.

"I think there will be some change. Brain damage makes it seem like it will be the worst-case scenario when we don't know if that's the case. The CT showed that there was minimal shift from the bleed, which was good news. Seizures are a cause for concern, but they could be the extent of the damage."

"More seizures?"

"Possibly. With each seizure that occurs, the likelihood of more increases. There was no visible trigger to this one. Sam was stable and even his ICP had improved. We will need to run further tests before we can give you a definitive answer though. The thing to remember is that, even if Sam is epileptic, there are treatments available and it will not hold him back from living a full and productive life. It is something he will learn to live with."

That was true for someone normal, Dean thought, but Sam was a hunter. What if he dropped when he was facing off against some fugly? Dean might not be there—he might be trapped or hurt. Sam might be alone.

"I am arranging for Sam to have a CT now to check for any complications to his internal injuries. I will know more when I have the results from that. I suggest you try to get some more rest. If that's not possible, maybe take a walk or get something to eat and drink. Sam will be gone for a while, and you will need to be replenished for the day."

Dean nodded, though he knew rest was an impossibility. "Can I stay with him until you take him down?"

"You can, but I think that will be about thirty seconds," he said as Eric came into the room again. "We'll need to prepare him to be moved now, Dean. Take care of yourself for a while, and we will make sure to tell you when he's back."

Dean walked to the bed and patted Sam's hand before turning and leaving. He would get some coffee and kill some time until Sam was back. That was the best he could do.

* * *

Dean was sitting in the family room toying with the cold pancakes Elsie had sent in for him the night before. They were good, and he was grateful for them, but his appetite seemed to have been wiped by the stresses of the night. He took a bite though, and chewed mechanically as he knew he needed the energy for another day of sitting with Sam. Though it was physically undemanding, it was emotionally exhausting.

The seizure had been scary, but they'd been lucky. Though Sam had popped a couple stiches from his incision site, he hadn't caused any new bleeding internally. The bigger concern now was the fact it was his third seizure, and this one hadn't been caused by the pressure. Was this the start of what Sam was going to live with now or was there some other reason for it to happen? They said there were tests they could use to try to see, but they couldn't run them until Sam was awake.

He took another bite and chewed, wishing he could turn his racing mind off for a while. He didn't want to be thinking about these things. He tossed the last of his pancake back into the box and set it down on the table. He ran a hand over his face and felt the scratch of stubble. He needed a shave. It would have to wait though. Sam was having checks run now, but they should be over soon, and he wanted to get back to him as soon as he could.

The door opened and Dean's head snapped up, expecting it to be Jean telling him Sam was ready for him to go back, but it was Alfie. He came in and greeted Dean as he tugged off his jacket. He sat down on the chair opposite Dean and said, "Are you finished eating already?"

Dean looked guiltily at the remains of the pancakes and picked them up again. "No, I was just taking a break."

"Good. You need to eat plenty. Elsie will ask when I get home if you're taking care of yourself, and I can't lie. Not just because I'm morally opposed; my wife happens to be a human lie detector."

Dean smiled. He wondered what it must be like to have a relationship like that, built on so many years of loving each other. He'd had Lisa, but a year living together wasn't long enough to know all the details of her properly, especially as his ability to be completely open to her love had been tempered by his grief.

"I'll eat it all," Dean promised, taking a bite.

He nodded, satisfied. "That'll please her. I think she's enjoying this arrangement, you know. She gets to cook at the strangest times and that's amusing Izzy. She thinks her Grandmother has started a new game of breakfast at dinnertime. She's getting some fun desserts out of this."

"Tell Elsie I appreciate it," Dean said. "Really."

"I'll be sure to pass that on." He leaned back in his seat and said, "You need to shave. I know it's all the fashion among you kids right now to look like you lost your razor, but you should keep yourself smart for Sam. If you look like this when he's awake, he's going to know how you've spent the time he's been out, and I bet he'll be worried."

"How did you know Sam's a worrier?" Dean asked.

"If he cares about you even half as much as you care about him, and I'm sure he does, he'll be worried. Have the rest of your breakfast and then you can clean up and see him again."

Dean ate the rest of his pancake quickly and said, "You're here early. Everything okay?"

"I heard what happened in the night," Alfie said. "Katherine called me when she came on shift. I thought maybe you'd need to talk."

Dean picked up his cooling coffee and took a sip. "He seized again."

"I know. How do you feel about that?"

"Scared," Dean admitted. "They said his ICP was down when it happened, so it wasn't that causing it like before. I'm worried this is something that's going to happen again."

Alfie nodded thoughtfully. "It was to be expected really. The brain is a funny thing, Dean. When Sam crashed the truck, he would have been thrown around in the cab. His head would have been rocked faster than his brain could keep up with. That means it hit the inside of his skull. He had a bleed, we know, but that's been treated."

"But he still seized last night," Dean said. "Does that mean he's epileptic now?"

"There's no definitive answer. Usually, someone that has two or more seizures is classified as epileptic. Sam has had three, but two of them had a clear cause. If he was my patient, I would need to see at least one more to classify him. There are tests they'll do when he's awake that will help them make a diagnosis. If he is, and that's still an if, there are ways of managing it. He will be started on a regimen of anticonvulsants. They can sometimes be enough to manage the condition completely. Sometimes there is still what we call breakthrough seizures. There is no reason Sam cannot live with epilepsy and have a fulfilling life with few limitations."

It was those limitations Dean was worried about. Hunting with a condition like that was going to be even more dangerous than it was already. And medication wasn't easy for them either. They lived on the road. They couldn't get a prescription filled easily. They would probably have to get another PO box and buy the drugs online. That meant returning to one spot each time Sam needed a refill, and what if they were caught up on a case? He couldn't go without them.

"But there's a chance he won't have more," Dean said hopefully.

"Absolutely. There is a good chance even. We'll know more when Sam is awake."

"When he's awake…" Dean said thoughtfully. "When do you think that's going to be though? How long are they going to need to keep him under?"

Alfie smiled impishly. "Actually, that's another reason I'm in here early. Katherine said I could be the one to tell you, as she knows how much I always enjoyed doing the parts like this."

"Tell me what?" Dean asked, his heart beating faster.

"They're going to start bringing him around," Alfie said happily. "They will stop the sedation first and the pain relief will be adjusted. Don't get overexcited, as it might take a while, but right now they're testing him without the ventilator. That's a big first step."

"They're taking him off! What if he needs it?"

"He's not off of it yet. They're testing it by slowing its cycle and seeing if Sam takes over himself. He has triggered the vent quite a few times already, so we know he can. It's just discovering if he's strong enough to do it full time. If he can't, they'll keep him on it until he's ready." He nodded to himself. "I'm hopeful."

Dean sank back in his seat. He was hopeful, too, and that felt scary. It seemed to him that when he had hope, things went wrong. They'd get cut a break and it would blow up in their face. What if Sam couldn't do it?

"How long will it take?" he asked.

"There's no way of knowing," Alfie said. "It won't be instantaneous like you see on TV, but it might not take too long. I'm fairly certain you have long enough to get yourself cleaned up and shaved before you see him though. They're going to be in with him a little longer while they test out how he's doing."

Dean set down his coffee and got to his feet. "You'll wait for me?" he asked.

"Of course. You do what you need, and I'll have myself a coffee here."

"Thanks," Dean said.

He rushed to Sam's room and looked through the window. Doctor Maddox was beside the bed, partially blocking his view. He could see Sam's face though, and the vent tube was still in place. He had time. He carried on to the end of the unit to the locker room to grab his bag then went into the staff bathroom. He made quick work of washing himself and changing his clothes, then took a little longer brushing his teeth and shaving. When he was done, he looked at himself in the mirror and noted how much better he looked. He felt better, too—more in control now that he was properly cleaned up and ready to present the right image for Sam. He would not know how bad things had been by looking at Dean now. He could believe it was less than it had been, because Sam _was_ a worrier, and he didn't need to worry about Dean.

The feeling of control was also born of the fact that there were steps of improvement for Sam. They were seeing if they could remove the ventilator. They were letting him wake up. After the fear of the night, it felt so much better to know that he might be talking to him by the end of the day. Dean wasn't naïve enough to think that was it, Sam would be magically better, but being awake was a vast improvement on what he had been so far. Sam was going to need time to heal from what he had been through, both mentally and physically, but he was taking the first steps now.

He stowed his bag back in the locker and went to the family room where Alfie was waiting. He nodded approvingly at Dean as he got to his feet and said, "Well, that looks much better."

"It feels it," Dean said. "Thanks, Alfie." He wouldn't have thought to present the right image to Sam had Alfie not prompted him.

They walked together out of the room and along the hall. Dean grabbed two gowns from the cart and handed one to Alfie before tearing the plastic off his own and pulling it on. His hands fumbled with the ties in his state of anticipation, and Alfie brushed his fingers away to tie it for him then expertly tied his own gown and then moved to the window to peer inside. "Looks like they're ready for us," he said. "Let's go."

Dean opened the door and went in. Doctor Maddox was writing on the chart at the end of the bed and she turned as they came in. "I wondered how long you'd be able to stay away when Alfred told you what was happening."

Dean nodded vaguely as he looked past her to Sam. The intubation tube was gone and had been replaced with an oxygen mask.

"He's okay without it?" he asked anxiously.

"He did very well," the doctor said. "He took up the strain almost straight away. We'll keep the ventilator close for a while, just in case it's needed, but I don't foresee that it will be. It seemed like Sam was just waiting for the chance to do it himself."

Dean smiled. "That's Sammy. Annoyingly independent sometimes."

"That's good," she said. "It'll help him."

Dean heard the unspoken message in her words, that it wasn't over, but he didn't explore it. Sam being off the ventilator was a win, and he was going to celebrate it and try not to let past experiences and failures put a damper on it.

She flipped the chart closed and set it back in the holder. "We've tailed off the sedation now, so Sam should be starting to wake. It can take time though, so don't be worried if it doesn't happen as fast as you'd like. He is already doing well. Now, I'm going to be off the floor for a while as I have a scheduled surgery, but Doctor Fell is going to take over, and if there's anything you or Sam need, let him know. I'll come back up and check on you all when I'm free."

"Thank you," Dean said.

She smiled and shared a knowing look with Alfie before leaving the room. Dean pulled up chairs for him and Alfie and they sat down.

Dean watched Sam for a moment, lying on the bed with only the rising and falling of his chest indicating movement. He looked better without the tube down his throat, but there was no way for Dean to fool himself that Sam was okay now. He was pale and there were still too many wires and tubes in him.

"Is there anything I should do, Alfie?" he asked. "Can I help him wake?"

"You can talk to him," he said. "I have had many patients tell me they were able to hear for a long time before they were awake. Maybe Sam will need a little prompting to rouse himself. Knowing you're here will help, but keep it calm. Waking up from something like this is already hard without knowing you're distressing people you care about without being able to help them. Does that sound like something Sam would struggle with?"

Dean thought of all the times Sam had beaten himself up over his inability to save people. "Yeah, he'd struggle."

Alfie nodded. "I thought so. Why don't you tell me a little more about your brother so I have a better footing with him when we can talk properly."

Dean leaned back in his seat. "Well, he's younger than me, but you wouldn't always know it with the way he acts, and he's smart as all hell, he went to Stanford even, and he has this incredible mind that can soak up facts and information…"

For the next hour he told Alfie every detail of his brother he could think of that didn't involve the truth of their life. He couldn't tell his friend that Sam had saved the world, but he told him he'd saved others with his good heart. He couldn't tell him what a good hunter he was, but he could tell him about how hard he fought for others. He tried to make Alfie understand just how good a person Sam was and how much he needed him in his life, hoping the words would seep into Sam's mind and help him come back.

* * *

"You can go if you need, Alfie," Dean said after a long period of stilted and tired conversation about the Portland area. "Elsie's got to be missing you."

Late afternoon had come, and apart from short bathroom breaks and time outside the window to quickly down a coffee, Dean and Alfie had stayed with Sam, waiting for him to wake.

"You'd think so," Alfie said. "But I think she's secretly enjoying the space and not having me under her feet for a while. We've been married forty-eight years, and for most of that I was a working surgeon. She got used to being without me. She went to bed alone many nights, and snatched minutes with me before I had to leave again. Our time together was precious, and when I retired, it was as big an adjustment for her as much as it was me. Sometimes absence really does make the heart grow fonder. We have settled into a routine now, her with her hobbies and me with the garden and my westerns, but a little space can make a difference. Besides, I need to see Sam awake, too."

"You do?"

Alfie laughed softly. "I didn't do much reading apart from charts and articles on new techniques when I was working, and when I retired I thought I would have a chance to dedicate some time to enjoying books as I had when I was a child. Elsie thought I would like mysteries, so she bought me a bunch. You can see her thinking; I had loved the mystery of diagnosing and exploring through medicine, so I should enjoy that in a book. The problem was that I was impatient. I would flip to the back page to see who the killer was instead of working my way there. Sam is like a mystery novel to me now. I want to know him, hear what his voice sounds like and see the color of his eyes. I want to know whether the real person of the man I have made in my head from what you've told me about him fits."

"He's the end of the book?" Dean said.

"He's the end of the book," Alfie agreed. "And I want to see this happen for you, too. It's been a long time coming."

"It has," Dean said tiredly. He was feeling drained. The anticipation and excitement of before had faded as the exhaustion of his broken and stressful night had taken its toll.

"Take a break," Alfie said. "Get yourself a coffee. I'll stay with Sam."

Reluctant to leave but knowing he needed the caffeine, Dean got to his feet. "I won't be long," he said.

"Take your time," Alfie said. "Neither I nor Sam are going anywhere."

Dean walked out of the room and pulled off his gown. He stopped at the window a moment and watched Alfie talking to Sam. He wondered what he was saying, what kind words he would have for Sam.

He was turning away to go to the staff room when he saw Alfie raise a hand to him and gesture him back. Dean quickly tore open a new gown and struggled to put it on again. He was fumbling with the sleeves still as he shouldered open the door and went in.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"He's coming around," Alfie said.

"He is?" Dean dashed to the bed, barely noticing when Alfie adjusted his gown properly and laced the ties at the back. Dean was occupied with Sam whose eyes were blinking drowsily. "Hey, Sammy."

Sam's eyes opened properly and drifted from Dean who was smiling widely at him, to Alfie who had moved to his side, and then to the opposite side of the room.

"Sam?" he said, leaning closer. "Look at me, man."

Sam didn't respond. He was staring across the room still, his gaze unfocused.

Dean turned quickly to Alfie. "What's going on?"

"He's just waking up," Alfie said calmly. "This is perfectly normal. It might take him a little while to engage properly. He's been out a while. You're doing your best, aren't you, Sam?"

Sam's eyes drifted to him and he frowned then his eyes moved back to the opposite wall. Dean walked around the bed to stand in Sam's lines of vision and ducked slightly so Sam was looking at him.

"Hey, Sammy," he said. "I know I said you needed sleep, but this was taking it a bit too far."

Sam's hand came slowly to the oxygen mask over his face and he tugged it down to his chin.

"No, Sam, you need that," Dean said, gently putting back into place.

"He'll be okay a moment without it," Alfie said. "He might want to say something."

Dean leaned back and watched Sam pull the mask away again. He blinked drowsily and then his eyes opened and fixed on Dean. He looked confused as he licked his lips and said in a whisper, "Dean?"

Dean smiled at him, feeling a burning behind his eyes that he tried to force away. "Yeah, I'm here. How do you feel?"

"Hurts," Sam said quietly.

"We'll get you something for it," Dean said. "Alfie?"

"I'll let them know he's awake and they will be able to organize some pain meds for him," Alfie said, walking to the door.

He slipped out and Dean dragged his chair around to sit close to the bed. Sam's hand fell back to the side and he plucked at the sheet.

"What happened?" he asked.

"You had an accident," Dean said. "Don't you remember?"

Sam shook his head and his eyes moved to a point over Dean's shoulder.

"Sam, what are you looking at?" he asked, a flicker of fear curling in his chest. "Are you seeing something?"

Sam nodded, and Dean's heart sank. He had forgotten, in the relief of Sam waking at last, that there was more wrong with Sam than the car wreck. He had forgotten the cause behind it.

He took a breath and braced himself for the question. "Sam, is it Lucifer again? Are you seeing him now?" He was scared of the answer, and when Sam shook his head, he felt a wave of relief. "Who do you see?" he asked.

Sam frowned at him. "It's Bobby."

Dean slumped in his seat. "You're seeing Bobby?" he asked weakly.

"Of course. Don't you see him?" He looked past Dean and his lips tugged up in a small smile as he answered someone that wasn't there. "Good to see you too, Bobby."

* * *

 **So… Sam is awake and Bobby has made an appearance. His arrival was always in the outline, but things didn't go quite as planned with him as you will see in later chapters.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	6. Chapter 5

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me. You're a star. Thank you also Gredelina1 for supporting me through the writing process. Thank you all for reading and reviewing.**

* * *

 ** _Chapter Five_**

 _"Good to see you too, Bobby."_

Though his voice was weak, there was no confusion or doubt in it. Sam really was seeing and hearing Bobby.

The door opened, and Doctor Maddox came in with Alfie. They were both smiling widely as Sam's eyes drifted to them and a frown creased his brow again.

"Hello, Sam. My name is Doctor Maddox and I am your attending neurosurgeon," she said. "I would like to run some checks if that's okay. Shall we sit you up a little higher?"

Sam didn't respond. He just continued to frown at her. Dean stood and dragged the chair back as Doctor Maddox reached for the bed control and slowly raised the head of the bed so Sam was reclining instead of lying almost flat.

Sam grimaced, his hand coming to his stomach, and she nodded. "Alfie said you were having some pain. I am going to give you something for that in a moment. I need to do a few checks first, while you're alert, if that's okay."

Sam just stared at her. She looked to Dean and he nodded. "Do what you've got to do. He can take it, right, Sammy?"

Sam's eyes drifted to him and then he flinched back as the doctor crossed his vision with a penlight.

"Follow the light for me, Sam," she said.

Dean stepped closer to watch and he saw that, though Sam's pupils reacted to the light, he didn't follow it. He looked confused as he tried to pull further back from her into the pillow.

She snapped off the light and nodded. "That's all good, Sam." She held out her hands and said, "I need you to squeeze my fingers as hard as you can." When Sam didn't respond, she looked at Dean. "Can you help?"

Dean stepped around the bed to Sam's other side and said, "Sammy, you need to squeeze her fingers. Sooner you do all this, sooner me and you can talk."

With a tired look, Sam gripped her fingers and squeezed hard enough that her fingertips whitened.

"That's good," Dean said with a smile. "You can let go now."

Sam did and the doctor cast Dean a grateful smile. "Just a couple more, Sam, and then I'll leave you and your brother alone to talk." She held out her hands and wiggled her fingers. "Can you do this for me."

Sam ignored her and looked at Dean. "What's going on, Dean?"

"The doctor is just checking you out. You had an accident, remember?"

"No. I didn't."

"We were just talking about this, Sam. I told you." A hint of panic made its home in Dean's voice. Had Sam forgotten it already?

Alfie laid a hand on his arm. "It's okay, Dean. This is all normal."

"It's okay to be confused, Sam, but you did have an accident," Doctor Maddox said gently. "You're in the hospital and we're taking care of you. I need you to wiggle your fingers for me now."

Sam shook his head again and his eyes fixed on a spot by the door. He seemed to be listening hard, and his expression was almost scared. It wasn't a look Dean saw often on Sam's face, as it was rare for him to let himself show that he was scared. His eyes widened suddenly and he called Bobby's name. "Where'd he go?" he asked.

The doctor stepped back from the bed and asked, "Who's missing, Sam?"

"Bobby," he said. "He was right there. He's gone." He turned to Dean, his eyes wide. "I think something's taken him."

Ignoring the concerned looks of the doctor and Alfie, Dean leaned closer to him and said, "We'll talk about Bobby later. You need to do these checks so they can get you some pain meds. Okay?"

Sam shook his head. "Bobby needs us! We have to go!"

"Bobby's fine," Doctor Maddox soothed. "We'll save these checks for later. I'll get you some pain relief now."

Sam scowled at her. "He's not fine." He reached for the sheet and blanket and started to pull them back. "I need to help him."

Dean caught his hand. "Not right now, Sam. We have to take care of you," he said.

The action seemed to trigger something in Sam. He cried out in anger and reached for the IV in his right hand. Before Dean could process what he was doing, he had ripped it out. His hand came to his chest and he brushed at the electrodes gummed to his skin. The heart monitor began to beep wildly and an alarm sounded as Sam's heartrate sped to a racing pace.

"Stop it, Sam!" Dean said firmly, reaching for his hands. "You need this stuff."

Sam yanked his hands away from Dean and reached for the bandages around his head.

"Stop him, Dean!" Alfie shouted, as Sam's fingers touched the tube that connected the ICP catheter to his head. Dean grabbed his hands and pushed them down, pinning them at his sides. Even with his weakened state, Sam was hard to hold. He struggled like a wild cat, shouting to be let free.

"Calm down, Sam," Dean ordered. "You're going to hurt yourself."

"Sedate him!" Alfie barked, sounding nothing like the calm and gentle man Dean had known so far.

Jean rushed into the room, summoned by the machines as Sam's heartrate climbed.

"Hold him for me, Dean," Doctor Maddox said. She reached into a drawer beside the bed and pulled out a prefilled syringe and needle. Dean held Sam more firmly as he struggled.

"No!" he shouted. "Dean, don't let her! Please!"

Dean fought the urge to turn away, avoiding Sam's gaze, as she jabbed the needle into his arm and depressed the plunger.

Sam struggled still, his eyes fixed on Dean with horror and betrayal.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. I'm sorry," Dean chanted.

"Please," Sam said weakly, as his struggles slowed and ceased. His hands went limp under Dean's grip and his eyes drifted closed as the machines at his side settled and the alarms stopped.

"You can let him go now," Doctor Maddox said after a moment.

Dean released his brother and stepped back. Alfie placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm going to send him down for a scan while he's out," the doctor said. "I want to see if he did himself any harm with that. I'll call down to book a slot."

She left the room, leaving Alfie and Dean alone with Sam. Alfie pushed up a chair behind Dean, and he let himself fall into it. Alfie pulled up his own chair and said, "Are you okay?"

"What the hell was that?" Dean asked. "I've never seen him act like that before."

"It was a reaction to waking up," Alfie said. "Sometimes people in comas have something in their head, a memory or thought, and that becomes overwhelming upon waking. It's confusing to find yourself in a situation like this, and they transfer that confusion onto another point. I have seen people crying for pets that died years ago, I have seen them angry over an argument from weeks before, and I have seen them wake without complication. There is no way of knowing which it will be until it happens. Sam clearly had this Bobby on his mind, and thought he needed to be helped as he was transferring his own panicked reaction onto him. Perhaps if you can arrange for this Bobby to come here to see him, it will clear it up in Sam's mind."

Dean huffed a laugh. "I'd love that, seriously I would, but Bobby died months ago."

"Ah. Well, that's not an unexpected reaction either. Sam obviously remembers his death and the time has muddled in his mind. He thinks it's happening now."

"Would that make him see him, too?" Dean asked hopefully.

"See him?"

Dean sighed. "Sam thought he could see Bobby when he woke up. He was talking to him even."

Alfie considered before answering. "I suppose it's possible that it could happen if the fear was great enough. Does Sam have a history of mental illness?"

Dean didn't know how to answer. There was no way to explain Sam's situation with Lucifer. That wasn't an illness; it was Hell creeping though. "Not like that," he said evasively.

"How exactly is it?" Alfie asked.

Dean grappled with his thoughts but was saved from answering as the door opened and Doctor Maddox came back in with an orderly.

"We're going to take Sam now," she said. "You should use the opportunity to take care of yourselves. Have something to eat and drink. If there's someone you need to call, perhaps now would be a good time to do it."

Dean nodded and got to his feet. There was no one to call, but he did need space from the room and what had happened there. He and Alfie walked from the room and pulled off their gowns.

"You go along to the family room," Alfie said. "I'll bring you a coffee and we can talk."

Having no energy or will to argue, Dean obeyed, walking in the opposite direction to Alfie. There was no one in the family room, and he sank gratefully onto the couch and leaned forward, his head in his hands. He was trying to make sense of what had just happened and what it could mean.

How could Bobby have become a part of Sam's Lucifer hallucinations? That was Hell, and Bobby had never been a part of his Hell experience. What was going on in Sam's head? Alfie said it was normal, but Doctor Bennett said he expected some change in Sam after the seizure. Was this brain damage he was seeing now? What could he do if it was? What if Sam was irrevocably changed?

He sat trying to untangle he thoughts alone until Alfie came back into the room with two paper cups of rich smelling coffee in his hands. He gave one to Dean and then sat down beside him.

"I could hear you thinking all the way down the hall," he said. "Do you want to finish what you were saying before about Sam not being ill?"

Dean sipped his coffee to allow himself a moment to think. "Sam's 'seen' things before," he said eventually. "He went through something really bad, _really_ bad, and it caused some side-effects for him."

"Do you mean some form of post-traumatic stress?"

"In a way. He would see the… person… that had hurt him. It was torturing him. He was having trouble sleeping. Before the accident, he had been awake almost three days."

Alfie frowned. "It's almost impossible for someone to be awake that long. Our bodies shut down as a form of self-protection."

"Sam's didn't," Dean said. "He was really suffering. What he was seeing was keeping him awake."

"I see," he said thoughtfully. "And did you seek help for this? Has Sam ever been medicated?"

Dean shook his head guiltily. "No."

"Why not?" Though his tone was mild, Dean thought he felt accusation coming from his friend.

"Sam didn't want to."

Though they hadn't discussed it openly, Sam wouldn't have wanted it. He would have fought it at every turn, knowing how precarious their position was with the Leviathans out there. Dean had thought he could handle it, sure that Sam's exhaustion would drag him under sooner or later. He hadn't known what would happen. If he had, he would never have let Sam get behind the wheel. He would have protected his brother better. He already knew he'd failed that. His grief for Bobby and Castiel, Sam's broken wall and the tenuous nature of the situation with the Leviathans, meant he had been distracted and not paying enough attention to Sam and his suffering.

Alfie sighed. "Then I am not sure what is happening. It's possible that this pre-existing condition means that Sam's confusion was heightened post-waking, or it could be a symptom of something different. I am sure that I don't need to tell you this, Dean, but post-traumatic stress is serious. He needs help. We have to tell the doctors. He needs to be assessed by a specialist."

"Why though?" Dean asked. "He's sleeping again now. He's better than he was."

"A coma is not natural sleep," Alfie said. "It is true unconsciousness, and even that wasn't natural. Sam was sedated, and he is again now."

"You mean it might not be over?" Dean asked.

"I think we can agree that the hallucination side of the situation is most definitely not over. The sleep issue remains to be seen. If he can sleep without assistance, that will be an improvement, but the fact he is hallucinating still is a cause for concern. He needs more help than you or I can give."

Dean thought he could feel the disappointment rolling from his friend in waves. He didn't want this. He couldn't handle it. Sam was supposed to be okay when he woke up. He had imagined that there would be recovery time from the internal injury, maybe the problem of the seizures, but to add on Sam's hallucinations and sleep issues was too much. There was a limit to what either of them could take on top of what they had already been through.

"What am I going to do, Alfie?" he asked. "This might not be all. The doctor last night spoke about brain damage. What if him seeing Bobby isn't from the trauma. What if it's brain damage instead?" He raked a hand over his face, feeling completely defeated. "What do I do now?"

Alfie squeezed his shoulder. "You tell Katherine everything. I can understand why you didn't before, as Sam was unconscious and it wouldn't have felt relevant, but you have to agree that it is now. If, God forbid, the sleep thing becomes an issue again, he is going to need intervention to help him quickly, or his injuries are not going to heal but deteriorate."

Dean bowed his head. "I know. I will. But…"

"You're scared?" Alfie guessed. "I understand that. It's natural. You have been in this place for a week now, too. When was the last time you had fresh air?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know."

"Precisely. You're going to burn out if you carry on. Speak to Katherine, explain everything, and allow her to help Sam while you help yourself. Go home and sleep in a real bed for a change."

Dean huffed a laugh. Home was a car that was on lockdown. There was nowhere else now that Bobby's place was gutted. He didn't have anywhere else to go that he could call home.

"What's funny?" Alfie asked.

"I don't have a home," Dean said. "I have a car. Me and Sam live on the road. We haven't had a proper home since we were kids, and we haven't even had a place to go to crash with a friend for months—not since before Bobby died. We have motels sometimes, but that's as good as it gets now."

Alfie's eyes widened, and Dean knew he was trying to imagine that kind of existence. No one could unless they'd lived it. Dean hadn't had anything like a home since Lisa, and Sam hadn't since Stanford. They didn't have that kind of life.

Alfie quickly schooled his expression into a smile and said, "That's easily remedied. I said before you can stay with us. Elsie has been pestering me to persuade you to come since the first day, but I understood you couldn't leave Sam until he was awake. He is awake now, so you can come home with me for a night. Have a proper meal at a table. Sleep in a bed and have more than a rushed shower. We'll take care of it all."

Dean's eyes burned. He had known Alfie was special from almost the moment he met him, but this was exceeding even that. Bringing him food and sitting with him during the day was already too much, but to have them open their home to him too was more than he could have imagined.

"You don't have to do this, Alfie," he said. "You're already doing so much."

"I want to. We both do. There's something special about you, Dean, and I can see it. Elsie knows it, too, even without meeting you. She said there was an open invitation from the beginning, even before we knew you were homeless, and not just for you. Sam is going to need somewhere to stay when he's discharged, and he'll need peace to recover. I can't promise peace with my Elsie and little Izzy around, but I can promise a warm bed and some homecooked food. Let us do this for you, Dean."

"I don't know…"

"Do it for Sam," he said. "With us, he'll have an on-call doctor in me, and someone that will love nothing more than to mother him in Elsie. I have a feeling it's been a long time since you or Sam were mothered. Am I right?"

Dean nodded slowly. Dean hadn't had a mother since he was four and Sam couldn't remember having one. It would be good for Sam at least to experience it once. And Dean couldn't take him on the road again until he was completely well. They had no insurance, so rehab wasn't an option for Sam. They really did need this. Dean was going to have to swallow his pride and doubt to let them help.

"You're right," he said quietly. "And I'm grateful. We will come when it's time, but not yet. I need to be close to Sam."

"He's awake now though," Alfie said.

"But he still needs me. If he's still seeing Bobby when he wakes up again, he's going to need me to be here with him even more than before. I have to remind him what's real." He paused as he tried to articulate his thoughts. "I'm stone number one."

"What does that mean?" Alfie asked.

"It means we've been doing this a while," Dean said. "And I'm the only one that can do it."

* * *

 **So… We're back to stone number one. I always loved that concept in the show and am pleased to have a chance to explore the idea again.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	7. Chapter 6

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for working your beta magic in this for me, and thank you Gredelina1 for helping me with pre-reading.**

 **Thank you all for reading and reviewing. Your response to this story has made me so happy.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Six**_

The next morning found Dean with Doctor Maddox in the family room. The air was filled with expectant silence as Dean tried to find the words to explain what had been happening to Sam before the accident. He couldn't say too much for fear of them thinking they were both crazy. Alfie said she needed to know though, and Dean could see the truth in the advice, so he took a deep breath and said, "Before he ended up here, before the wreck, Sam was having troubles."

"What sort of troubles?"

"He'd been through something pretty rough, and it was still affecting him." He shook his head. He needed to be clearer. "Sam was hurt by some people, really hurt, and he couldn't deal with it. It wasn't his fault. He wasn't weak or anything. He was just overwhelmed by it."

"What form did this 'overwhelm' take for Sam personally?" she asked.

"He was seeing and hearing things."

"Hallucinations?"

Dean nodded. "Pretty much. It was the memories of what had happened to him breaking through. But it was his sleep thing that was the worst. It got really bad and lasted days."

"Do you mean he was having trouble sleeping?"

Dean huffed out a breath. "Yeah. Trouble. Before the accident, Sam hadn't slept for days. Three days. He just couldn't switch off."

She looked startled. "Sam didn't sleep for three days?"

Dean nodded. "At least."

"Do you know how unusual that is? Our bodies need sleep for all kinds of things, not just energy. Our minds process memories while we sleep. We grow muscle, and tissues repair; it heals us. Prolonged sleeplessness has serious consequences."

"Tell me about it," Dean said bitterly.

"I mean more than the accident. Sam would have become very ill if his insomnia had become much more prolonged."

"But he's sleeping now," Dean said. "So that's okay, right? You said he slept through the night, and his liver is healing."

Her hands were on her lap, and her fingers drummed together. "Yes," she said carefully. "He is healing, and he slept past the point that the sedatives would have been out of his system, so we can assume that part is over. To be sure, I would like to see him sleep without any assistance at all. That's something we can monitor here. Hmm… These hallucinations though, were they brought on by the insomnia or were they really the cause?"

She didn't seem to be speaking to Dean, but he answered anyway. "They started before the sleep thing. He said the person he was seeing was stopping him sleeping."

"This Bobby he mentioned?"

"No. Bobby was family. Seeing him is new. I don't know why he's seeing him now. That's what worries me more. Bobby is dead. Sam knew that, but when he got upset, he didn't seem to know."

"And he said Bobby needed help," she said thoughtfully. "Yes. I remember. That is a concern." She laid her hands flat on her knees. "Okay. Here is where I think we should start. We will monitor Sam's sleep pattern carefully, and if it looks like it is becoming a problem again, we will treat it. Secondly, I will arrange a psych consult for him."

"Sam's not crazy," Dean said, the words bitten off.

"I didn't say he is, but you can't deny he needs help if he's hallucinating. I am a neurologist; I understand how brains work, but I don't know enough about how minds work. I would have explained the hallucination of Bobby as post-waking confusion, but if the problem presented in some form before he was in the accident, it makes it doubtful."

"That's what Alfie said."

She smiled. "Alfred is a very good doctor and a talented neurosurgeon. He knows what he's talking about. He can help you, but Sam needs more help than you, I, or Alfred can give him for this problem. I will confirm this with the psychiatrist of course, but I think it's better that we not correct him if he mentions Bobby again. We don't want him to become upset. I don't want to need to keep sedating him."

Dean nodded. "I can do that; I won't correct him."

"Good. When he is awake I am going to run some checks, and I am also going to arrange for Sam to have an EEG to check if there is an underlying seizure condition or if it was circumstantial. I will also get him an MRI scan so we can get a clear picture of his brain."

"You're checking for brain damage, aren't you?" Dean asked quietly.

"Yes, I am," she said. "These tests might be able to reassure us that one problem is taken care of, and if it doesn't, we will be able to make a plan for Sam to move ahead. The more informed we are, the better we can treat him." Seeing Dean wasn't reassured, she went on. "Celebrate the victories, Dean. Sam is awake now. That is better news than you have had for days now."

Dean nodded. "Thanks, Doc. We both appreciate what you're doing for him."

"You're welcome."

They both looked up as there was a knock on the door and Jean peeked in. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, but Sam is awake and he's asking for you, Dean."

"How's he doing?" Dean asked, getting quickly to his feet and following her along the hall.

"He seems okay. He isn't saying much, but he's calm."

They came to a stop outside Sam's room and Dean tore open and put on a gown. Jean tied it for him and said that she would be close if they needed her.

Dean eased open the door and went in. Sam was sitting up higher in the bed than he had been before, and he was staring out of the window.

"Hey, Sammy," he said.

Sam turned to him and frowned. "Why are you wearing that?"

Surprised by the lack of pleasure or relief at his arrival, Dean plucked at the front of the gown he wore over his clothes. "I have to wear it so I can be in here with you," he said. "They need to keep the room as clean of germs as possible."

"It looks weird."

"It does," Dean agreed. "Maybe we won't have to wear them, soon. You're already doing much better."

"Good. I don't like them."

Dean frowned. Sam didn't sound like himself. He wondered if he was still angry about Dean holding him down the night before. Sam could hold a grudge, but he must be able to understand it had been necessary.

He pulled up a chair beside the bed and said, "You okay, Sammy?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't like it here. When can we go home?"

Dean didn't know if he mean home to the Impala, a motel or to Bobby's. There was no way of knowing how confused he was yet. He didn't want to bring up Bobby or memories of why the Impala was on lockdown, so he hedged and said, "Soon."

"I want to go home."

"We will just as soon as you're ready. You had a really bad accident. You've been sleeping for days. Though, you obviously needed it."

"Why did I need it?"

Starting to worry, Dean said, "What do you remember last, Sam?"

"Bobby," he said promptly. "He was talking to me." He narrowed his eyes at Dean. "You held me down."

"I'm sorry," Dean said. "But you were going to really hurt yourself. What do you remember before that though? Do you remember being in the car? You called me after the accident. Remember that?"

"No," Sam said neutrally. "I just remember Bobby. I want to see him. Where is he?"

What the doctor had said about not correcting him still at the forefront of his mind, Dean said, "He's not here right now."

"Where did he go?"

"He's on a case."

"Can we call him?" Sam asked.

"Not yet. We don't want to get in the way. He'll call us when he can."

"But I want to talk to him," Sam said.

It finally clicked for Dean what Sam reminded him of. It was Ben when he was pissed and petulant at some enforced rule that he didn't think was fair. It was Sam at around the same age when John said they had to move on before he'd finished the year at school; when he was told it was time for weapons drill instead of homework. Sam was talking like a child.

Confused and worried, Dean said, "You need anything, Sam? You thirsty maybe?"

"No. The lady before gave me some water. She said I can maybe eat when the doctor has been. When's the doctor coming?"

"Soon, I think. She's setting up some tests for you."

"I don't want to take a test. I'm tired."

"It's not that kind of test. It's a scan and something else. They want to know how your body is doing after the accident. She's probably going to ask you some questions, too, so you need to remember you're Sam Smith right now and I'm Dean Smith."

"Why can't I be Sam Winchester?"

"Because Smith is the name Frank set us up with. They can't know who we really are."

"I can lie. But will we be able to go after?"

He wasn't petulant now. He sounded scared and needing reassurance. That worried Dean even more.

"As soon as they say it's okay, we'll go," Dean said. "We have a friend that's going to help us."

"Bobby?" he asked hopefully.

"No. He's a new friend called Alfie. He's been really good to us."

"Okay," he said, sounding uncertain. "When will the doctor be here?"

Dean glanced at the window and saw her outside, tying on a gown. "I think she's coming now. Remember, you're Sam Smith."

"I know, Dean." He was back to annoyed now.

The door opened and Doctor Maddox came in. "Hello, Sam," she said. "My name is Doctor Maddox, and I have been taking care of you since you were admitted. I met you last night. Do you remember?"

Sam cast Dean a worried look as he shook his head. Dean tried to smile reassuringly.

"That's okay," she said. "You have been very unwell, and it's normal to forget things that happened when you've just woken up. Now, I am going to ask you some questions, and I need you to try to answer them for me. Don't worry if you don't have the answers though. You might be a little confused still."

"When can I have something to eat?" Sam asked.

She pulled up a chair on the opposite side to the bed to Dean and lifted her clipboard. "As soon as I've done this test," she said, no sign of concern in her for Sam's unrelated question. She was either a good actress or she was really not worried. Maybe this was what Dean should have expected from Sam. Alfie said he would be confused. The hallucinations might not be related to waking up, but this change could be.

"What do you want to know?" Sam asked.

"Can you tell me your full name?"

"Sam Smith." His expression morphed into distaste as he said his new alias. Dean didn't understand why it seemed to be a problem since they'd spent half their lives giving false names to people. They were more often using a rock alias than they were the name Winchester.

"When is your birthday, Sam?" she asked.

"May second."

"And where do you live?"

"In the Impala," he said promptly. "Dean calls her Baby. I don't call her anything."

Doctor Maddox cast Dean a quick look and he nodded. It might not be the address he'd given on Sam's intake forms, but it was the truth. The Impala was their home.

She made a note on her form and asked, "Do you know where you are now?"

"In a hospital. I don't know what one."

"That's okay. No one has probably told you yet. It's the Providence Milwaukie Hospital. Do you know why you're here?"

"Dean said there was an accident. I don't remember."

"What do you remember?"

"I was very tired and then Bobby was here. Is he coming back soon?" he asked hopefully.

Up until then, Dean had been feeling better. Sam had been answering the questions and not mentioning Bobby. He'd let himself fall into a false sense of security.

"I'm sure he will come when he can," she said. "I would like to ask you some more questions now. Can you tell me the date?"

Sam started to answer, but then his gaze became distant and he fell silent. He stared vaguely at the wall.

"Sammy?" Dean said, rising to his feet.

Doctor Maddox held up a hand to him and she took Sam's hands and squeezed them. "Sam, can you hear me?" she asked. "Can you squeeze my hands?"

Sam didn't respond, and Dean's worry grew as she took a penlight from her pocket and swiped it across Sam's vision.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"I'm not certain," she said. "Have you seen episodes like this before?"

"Yes, when Sam was seeing stuff he would vague out like this. We could usually call him back though. What is it?"

"It could be a hallucination manifesting again, or it could be a kind of seizure. It looks like it could be what we call an absence seizure, but his history makes me uncertain. We will wait for this to end, and then I will see if we can bump his EEG up the list. I would like a definitive answer sooner rather than later."

"And if it is a seizure?" Dean asked. "What do we do? Will we have to start medicating him?"

"Yes. I know medication seems frightening, but if Sam is epileptic, it will improve his control and therefore his life. It's the best thing we can do for him, Dean."

Dean nodded. It worried him though. Sam wouldn't want to be medicated. And if this change in him, the confusion, stuck around, it would be even harder to get him to take the medication. He always kicked up a stink about taking meds when he needed them for something like pain. If he didn't understand what was happening to him, if he couldn't, it would be even more complicated.

He sat back down and waited for Sam to come back to them, every second feeling like an eternity. It was worse than when he was unconscious, because they knew then that was because he was sedated. This was all on Sam, and he worried Sam wouldn't be able to pull out of it again. He also wondered what Sam was seeing, if it was another hallucination. Was Lucifer with him again?

When Sam eventually pulled out of it, after a longer wait that Dean had ever seen before, he seemed dazed.

"Welcome back, Sammy," he said. "You okay?"

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"We're not sure," Dean admitted. "What happened for you? Do you remember?"

"I don't know. I saw something."

Dean grimaced. He would have preferred an actual absence, even thought it meant medication for Sam, as he wanted Sam to be seeing Lucifer again even less.

"What did you see, Sam?" Doctor Maddox asked.

Sam turned his face away. "I don't want to talk about it."

Dean was sure it was Lucifer then. He cursed quietly and Sam shot him a wary look. Dean quickly smiled reassuringly, though Sam seemed to take no comfort from it.

"I want to sleep now," Sam said.

"Don't you want something to eat?" Dean asked hopefully. He didn't want Sam sleeping yet.

Sam shook his head. "I want to sleep."

"That's probably better," the doctor said. "We're going to run an MRI soon, Sam, and you can sleep then maybe—it can be a little loud—but we're also doing something called an EEG and you will need to be awake for that. You have a rest now and I'll try to arrange the MRI first so you can sleep longer, and then you'll be ready for the EEG."

"I don't want an MRI," Sam said with a frown. "I just want to sleep."

"You need it, Sam," Dean said. "We need to make sure you're okay. You've been really banged up."

Sam looked imploringly at the doctor. "Can Dean come with me?"

"I'm afraid not, but he will be here when you get back, won't you, Dean?"

"I promise," Dean said.

Sam looked unsettled still, but he nodded and made himself more comfortable against the pillows. He must have been very tired, as he quickly fell asleep and didn't wake when Doctor Maddox told Dean she was going to make arrangements and left.

Dean stayed seated at Sam's side, watching him sleep and wondering what was going on in his head and what it meant for him now. Was it possible Sam was going to be like this forever?

Was he really damaged after all?

* * *

Dean was in the family room, waiting for Sam to get back. They'd taken him well over an hour ago, and Dean was impatient. He just wanted to talk to him already, reassure him, make sure he knew Dean was there for him. Sam needed that as much as Dean did in his new, more vulnerable state.

The door opened and Dean heard a keening cry from outside as Alfie hurried in.

He leapt to his feet. "What's going on? What's happened?"

Alfie took a moment to unbutton his jacket and set down his Tupperware boxes before answering, and when he did he avoided Dean's eye. "The young man in room five passed away. His parents have just been told." He shook his head. "Terrible thing."

Dean's heart sank. The cry seemed to be tearing through his heart still. Someone out there, just a closed door away, was living a nightmare. He felt sick.

"How's Sam?" Alfie asked.

"Better than that poor kid," Dean said. "What happened to him?"

Alfie sighed. "He was in a car accident, too. Broke his spine. He developed aspiration pneumonia and his body couldn't fight it. He was only twenty-four, and he leaves a fiancé behind. Terrible."

Dean sat down again and raked a hand over his face. That kid was younger than Sam and his life had been snuffed out. Dean thought his situation was a nightmare, but they were lucky compared to that poor family. He felt guilty for feeling like they'd been dealt the worst blow when really they hadn't. Sam was awake and healing, whatever else was happening; he was at least alive.

"So, how is Sam?" Alfie asked.

"He's having some tests. He slept through the night, and I told Doctor Maddox about the hallucinations and sleep thing this morning. She's going to get him a psych consult."

"How do you feel about that?"

"Honestly, I was kinda freaked about the whole idea at first—Sam isn't crazy—but now I'm thinking some sort of crazy might be the best diagnosis; I mean compared to some sort of brain damage. When he was… attacked, he was a wreck. Someone helped him, but it was all kinda undone. I was so mad about that, I forgot that the fact he was back at all was a miracle. I could have really lost him."

"You could have," Alfie agreed. "I know it doesn't feel it, but Sam was lucky."

There was a time that Dean would have protested that vehemently as Sam had only bad luck, but he saw the truth that his certainty was wrong now.

"Yeah."

"What are they testing now?" Alfie asked.

"They're giving him an EEG and MRI. He had a vacant moment today. The doc doesn't know if it's a kind of seizure or hallucinations again. He said he saw something after, but I don't know how these seizure things work. He could have been seeing the person that hurt him again."

Alfie nodded thoughtfully. "It could well be a seizure. We don't know enough about them to be sure. The EEG should give us an answer though. And the MRI will help."

"That's checking for brain damage," Dean stated.

"Yes. I know that is frightening, but the better we understand Sam's condition, the better we can help him. How does he seem to you now?"

"Different. He was talking strangely this morning. Not slurred or anything; it was more like he wasn't all the way there. He sounded very young again. I practically raised Sam, and I remember what he was like, and that was how he sounded this morning."

Alfie steepled his fingers under his chin. "I see."

"What? What are you thinking, Alfie?" he asked. "Do you know what's wrong with him?"

"I don't _know_ anything. I would need to see the MRIs and speak to Sam myself, hear how he sounds, before I even started to advise. I think it's better you wait until Katherine can give you some more information. I have been retired ten years and knowledge and technology has vastly improved in that time. She's the very best person to advise you."

"You think there's brain damage, don't you?" Dean said quietly.

"I don't know, Dean. I can only make guesses, and they are not helpful in this situation. I can give you some general advice though, if you'll allow me."

Dean nodded. "Sure."

"Remember Sam is alive. If there is damage, if he needs a little extra help for a while, you will not be alone. Elsie and I will be with you every step of the way as long as we're needed." He gestured to the door. "It could be so much worse."

It could be worse, Dean knew, and he was massively relieved that Sam was alive and had gotten off comparatively lucky physically, but he was worried about his brother's condition still. Sam was going to struggle if there was damage. He had always been so virile and his mind was incredible. How was he going to handle this if he was changed because of the accident?

"Have something to eat," Alfie said, handing him a box. "There's some sandwiches in there made with Elsie's very own homemade bread. It's better than anything you can find in any fancy bakery."

Dean took it and forced a smile. "Thanks, Alfie. And thank Elsie for me, too."

"You can do that yourself," he said. "I have a feeling you're going to be meeting her soon."

"I am?"

"Yes. I could be very much mistaken, but I don't think Sam will be here much longer, and then you'll be coming home with me." He clapped his hands together. "Elsie can't wait. She's filling the cupboards for you both, getting all the fixings in for pies."

"Pie?"

"Yes. She said you seem like a pie kind of man." He winked and then gestured to the box in Dean's hands. "Eat up."

Curious of how someone could seem like a 'pie man' without even meeting them, Dean took a bite of the sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. Was there more to Alfie than he knew? He'd have said he was an angel before he actually met one, but he knew from experience that angels were dicks. There was definitely something about him though. Maybe he was a human approximation of what angels were supposed to be.

* * *

 **So… A couple signs of Sam's future in this and the last chapter. What do you think of the direction it's going in?**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	8. Chapter 7

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me. You're an absolute star. Thank you Gredelina1 for all your help.**

 **You guys are awesome! With the last update I reached 100 reviews! I have never reached this milestone so early in a story before. You really are the best. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. It means the world to me. As a thank you I am posting an extra chapter this week.  
**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Seven**_

Sam had eaten half of the sandwich on his plate and drank the juice, but his fresh fruit plate went untouched and he was now picking the bread apart and making a small pile of it. He seemed lethargic and not entirely engaged with what Dean was saying as he asked him about how the tests had gone.

Eventually, Dean gave up on his questions and said, "You should eat some more, Sam. You haven't had much."

Sam looked down at his plate and shook his head. "I'm full."

Dean guessed a week without solid food was going to make him struggle to eat more for a while. It was strange though that Sam hadn't even tasted the fruit because he usually went for the healthy choices first.

Alfie walked past the window and waved a hand at them, lifting a paper cup of coffee to show why he couldn't come in yet. Dean nodded in acknowledgment while Sam frowned at him.

"Who's that man?" he asked.

"That's Alfie. He's the one I told you about. He's been helping me a lot while you've been here. He's a doctor but he's retired now."

"Is he good?"

That question from Sam would usually mean was he competent and could they rely on him, could they trust him even. It felt more like a question of Alfie's morality now though.

"Yes, he's very good," Dean said. "He has helped me understand what's been happening. He's been great. He's going to help us both when you get out of here. We're going to go stay with him."

"Why?"

"Because you're going to be recovering a while. We'll need somewhere decent to stay. A home." He hesitated after, realizing that this could trigger questions about Bobby and the home they'd had with him sometimes. It did, though not in the way Dean expected.

"When's Bobby coming back?" he asked.

"Not for a while," Dean said evasively.

"Why not?"

"He's on a case."

Sam frowned. "Are we on a case?"

For the first time, Dean considered the fact that they'd abandoned the hunt they'd been on when Sam had the accident. He hadn't even arranged for Garth or one of the others to take over. He should have set them up with the information for that real estate agent. Someone should have been looking into it. He couldn't take it up again, not with Sam the way he was, but he should contact Annie and see if she had someone to spare to check it out.

"Right now, our case is you," he said. "We're getting you back on your feet before we tackle anything else."

"I'm okay. We don't need to wait for anything."

Dean shook his head. "We need to wait for me, too. I'm not back on my feet either."

"Oh. Okay. We can wait," Sam said obligingly.

"Thanks, Sam," Dean said, grateful that he was letting it go so easily.

Sam pushed away his tray and wiped his hands on the sheet. "Dean," he said slowly, his eyes fixed on the tray in front of him.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

He looked up at him, a hopeful look in his eyes. "Is Jess coming soon?"

Dean felt the breath rush out of him in a whoosh.

Sam rarely spoke about Jessica at all. When that dick Osiris had mentioned her, when Dean had been on trial, he had seen the pain on Sam's face. Dean never brought her up to save Sam from the reminders that still hurt him all these years later. Now he wasn't just mentioning her, he was asking for her. What the hell could Dean say? This wasn't just a subject wrought with danger for Sam; it was yet another sign of something really being wrong with him. He could understand the confusion of Bobby—maybe—as Bobby's death was recent and Sam had apparently seen him recently, but this made no sense unless he had seen her, too.

"When did you see Jess last, Sam?" he asked.

Sam considered. "I'm not sure. I miss her."

Dean's eyes stung. He knew what the doctor had said about not correcting Sam, but this was different. It was Jessica. He hedged. "I'm not sure, Sam."

Sam's lips downturned. "She'll come though?"

Dean was saved from answering by a knock on the door and Doctor Maddox coming in with Alfie behind her. "Sam, I have arranged someone to speak to you now," she said. "His name is Doctor Platt. He's going to ask you some questions while I have a talk with Dean."

"I don't want more questions," Sam said. "I want Jess."

She glanced quickly at Dean and he shook his head slightly, unnoticed by Sam who was glaring at her.

"It won't take long," she said. "And then we'll be able to do some things to help you. We're going to move you to a room on a different ward where Dean can stay with you longer. He won't need the gown either."

"I don't like them," Sam said.

"Then you'll be much happier soon. You talk to Doctor Platt and we will arrange your room change."

"And Dean can stay?"

"Not right now, but when you've changed rooms, yes."

"Why not now?"

"Because Dean needs to eat something," she said, cleverly tapping into Sam's caretaking side. "And I need to talk to him about some stuff. Give us maybe an hour and you'll be together again."

Sam looked suspiciously at Dean. "You'll come back?"

"I promise."

"Bobby said he'd be back, too, but I haven't seen him," Sam said.

"I'm not Bobby," Dean said. "I always come back. You know that."

Sam nodded. "Don't be long."

"I'll be back as soon as I can." He stood and patted Sam's arm.

He felt Sam's eyes on him as he left. He walked from the room and stopped outside the door where a man that looked only a few years older than Dean stood. "Doctor Platt?" he asked.

"Yes." He held out a hand and Dean shook it. "You must be Dean. It's nice to meet you. I won't keep you from your brother any longer than is necessary."

"Thanks," Dean said, dropping his voice so that Sam couldn't overhear. "Look, there's something you should know about before you speak to him. Sam's asking for Jess, his girlfriend."

"Is that a problem?"

"Yeah. Jess died years ago, but Sam doesn't seem to know that right now. I don't want him remembering and getting upset, especially if I'm not with him, so don't ask about her, okay?"

He nodded. "Absolutely. I will try to steer clear of the topic. This is more of an assessment session anyway. It's my job to gain an understanding of Sam's mental state before a plan of action can be created between us all."

"This isn't just about getting him medication?" Dean asked. "You're going to 'treat' him, too."

"Giving medication alone would be negligent, he said. "We need to take a holistic approach to Sam's care. Doctor Maddox and her colleagues are taking care of Sam's body. I will help to take care of his mind."

Dean frowned. "This all sounds like a lot."

"It is," he agreed. "But so is what's been happening to Sam. Between us all, we're going to get to the bottom of it and help him."

"Okay," Dean said. "Go easy on him, though. He's not as strong as he looks."

"I will be very careful," he said. He smiled and slipped into the room and Dean heard him say, "Hello, Sam. I'm Doctor Platt, and I am here so we can talk about some things…"

"Would you like to come to my office, Dean?" Doctor Maddox asked.

"Sure," Dean said. "Can Alfie come, too?"

"Absolutely. Whatever you need."

They fell into step beside her along the hall and through a door with smaller rooms labeled with names instead of just room numbers. She opened the door to one and gestured them inside.

The room was painted a generic beige but it was light and airy. The window had a blind that had been rolled up to let the sunlight flood in. The desk was lightwood and neatly ordered. The chair behind it was padded cream leather, and the ones in front were cushioned tan fabric. There was watercolor art on the wall, and a couch with throw pillows on it and a blanket. It seemed a comfortable and welcoming space where the receival of bad news was unlikely. Having spent his life looking past appearances for the truth, Dean was at once on his guard.

"Have a seat wherever you wish," Doctor Maddox said.

Dean took one in front of the desk and waited for Alfie and the doctor to sit too.

"It's very different in here," Alfie said, then explained for Dean's benefit, "This used to be my office."

"Yes, I remember some very dark wood furniture and a chesterfield couch," Doctor Maddox said. "Very formal."

"Ah, but I am a product of my time, Katherine," Alfie said. "That was how we decorated in my day."

"And this is how we decorate now," Doctor Maddox said with a smile.

"It's great," Dean cut in. "Can we get to Sam now? I don't want to leave him longer than I have to."

"Of course," she said, becoming serious. She lifted a file from the desk and flipped it open. "We have two things to discuss. Sam's EEG and his MRI. I will start with the EEG." She pulled out a folded strip of paper and laid it on the desk.

Dean leaned forward to look at it. It was covered in dancing lines that rose and dipped in seemingly random places There was an area that had been highlighted in yellow, and he examined it carefully. It looked more confused than the other areas; the peaks were higher and closer together. He knew it wasn't good news, and he didn't want to hear it explained. He just wanted to go back to Sam and talk about nothing important and pretend this was all some nightmare he was going to wake up from.

Doctor Maddox pointed at the highlighted section with a pen. "This part here is the important part. During the light stimulation phase of the test, Sam had a seizure."

Dean pulled back in his chair, distancing himself from the words. He did not want to hear this.

"It's not uncommon for an epileptic to be trigged by the light. You may have heard of the problem strobe lights present to them, too. That's very close to what Sam was exposed to this morning."

"So he is epileptic," Dean said. "It's for sure now?"

"Yes," she said soberly. "I know this is not the news you were hoping for, but it's probably not as bad as you're thinking either. Epilepsy doesn't mean Sam can't live the fullest life he's capable of. We will start him on a medication called Lamotrigine. It's an anticonvulsant that should help us…"

Her words became white noise. He was trying to take in what he'd heard. He'd known it was a possibility, but hearing it was harder than he could imagine. This was something Sam was going to have to live with. He could live with it, he was strong, but it was going to limit him. How was he going to hunt with this risk? How was he going to handle the news even? Sam was so independent.

"You said capable of," Alfie pointed out, and Dean's attention snapped back to the room.

"What does that mean?" he asked suspiciously.

Doctor Maddox sighed. "I know you have discussed the possibility of brain damage with Doctor Bennett, and you and I have spoken about it, too." She stood and lifted a large brown envelope from the desk. She walked to the lightboard on the wall beside the couch and tacked two dark transparent sheets in place as she flipped on the light behind it.

Dean turned his face away. He did not want to see what she was evidently going to show him. He wanted out of this. He didn't want to hear her speak more or make him look at those scans. He just wanted to be with Sam again, on the road, hunting. He wanted his brother to be able to do that again. He wanted to tell Sam about this nightmare he'd had and Sam could laugh at the idea he, _Sam,_ could ever be brain damaged.

"Dean," she said softly.

Dean shook his head.

Alfie stood and walked to the board to examine the scans. He leaned close and then turned to Dean. "Come and see."

"I don't want to," he said. He knew from Alfie's serious tone and the doctor's somber expression that it wasn't going to be good news.

"I know you don't, but you need to," Alfie said gently. "Come and see, then we can explain what you need to know for Sam."

It was the word _need_ that did it. Sam needed him to know this so he could help. He stood slowly and walked to the board. He forced his eyes to look at it. He could see nothing wrong. There were none of the dark areas that he'd seen on Doctor Sexy when someone had a tumor or needed half their brain cutting out. It looked normal to him.

"What am I looking at then?" he asked belligerently.

"This is the scan from this morning," Doctor Maddox said. "This here is the area that's important."

Dean followed the line of her finger to the edge of the scan. It looked fine to him. They were making him scared for nothing, he was sure. "What's so important?" he asked.

"This area here is lighter," she said. "That shows the contusions on Sam's brain. When he was in the accident–"

She cut off as Dean raised a hand. "You tell me, Alfie."

"Katherine is better able to tell you," Alfie said. "She is his doctor, Dean. I am just…"

"A friend," Dean said. "You're my friend, and you're a doctor, too. If I have to hear this, I want it to come from you. You can see what she's talking about, right?"

"Yes, I can see." He glanced at Doctor Maddox and she nodded to him. He lifted a mottled finger and pointed at the same spot Doctor Maddox had been indicating. "This is where the damage is. It's called a contusion, but that basically means it's a bruise. As I told you before, Sam's head was thrown around in the accident and his brain couldn't keep up. It hit against the sides of his skull. That was what hurt it. It's called a Traumatic Brain Injury. Now, this area is where the bleed was localized." He pointed at a different, darker spot that Dean hadn't seen. "This is where the brain was placed under additional pressure. It has essentially killed tissue."

"Sam has brain damage," Dean stated.

"Yes," Alfie said, his face drawn and sad.

Dean swayed, and he was vaguely aware of someone leading him back to a chair. He fell into it and covered his face with shaking hands. His eyes burned and when he blinked, wetness streaked down his cheek. The first tear seemed to open a floodgate. As fast as he wiped them away more flowed. He gave up trying and hugged his arms around himself instead, rocking back and forth as he sobbed silently.

He couldn't take it in. Sam had brain damage. He wasn't going to be the same anymore. His brilliant, intelligent and often pissy brother was changed. How was he going to handle this? Did he even know what had happened to him? Was he aware that he was different now? He was always so damn independent, but what would life offer him now?

He didn't know how long he spent lost in his thoughts, crying, but the tears slowly tapered away, and he wiped over his face one last time as he straightened up. "Okay," he said in a dead voice. "What does this mean for Sam?"

"We're not sure," Doctor Maddox said, taking her seat behind the desk again. "I didn't know Sam before the accident, so I can't judge how he is different now. Tell me what you have seen."

"It's like talking to a child. The way he speaks and the things he says are all changed. He's not the same. I don't…" He raked a hand over his face. "Dammit, I don't know. He's different. That's all I know."

"It's possible that damage such as Sam sustained would cause symptoms that present as mental regression, but they often mean that language skills and temperament are changed rather than his capabilities. This is going to be a case of waiting and seeing, Dean. As he recovers from his other injuries, his cognitive state will be revealed more. You will know better than anyone what the damage has done to Sam, so you will need to guide the rest of us."

"He was so clever," Dean said quietly. "He went to college to be a lawyer."

"He is still clever," Alfie said. "Brain injury such as Sam's doesn't lessen his intelligence. It just makes it harder for him to access and show it."

Dean nodded as if that was better, but he thought in truth it made it worse. Sam knew his mind still, and thoughts, but he couldn't wrangle them.

"Is that why he's asking for Jess and Bobby? Is he seeing Bobby because of the damage?"

"I think it's possible that his injury has dislodged his sense of time," she said. "It's not amnesia exactly. It's his becoming displaced in his memories. I am still unsure of why he _saw_ Bobby though. Perhaps Doctor Platt has some insight. We will ask him when he's finished with Sam."

Dean drew a breath through his nose and nodded. "What do I do now? What happens next?"

"It's going to be a learning curve for a while," she said. "At the moment we know little about Sam's physical capabilities. We haven't been able to run a full assessment as he was upset when he woke. We know he can talk and feed himself and he can recall names."

"That was in doubt?" Dean breathed.

"To be perfectly frank, everything is in doubt until Sam shows us otherwise. We will remove the ICP catheter tonight so he can begin to move around. There may be some weakness from his period of inactivity and there may be some from the injury. We will assess it as he is able to test himself more physically and we have more time with him awake."

"How can I help him?" Dean asked. "How do I…" The question he wanted to ask was how did he make this right for Sam? How could he fix it? There was no way though. Sam was hurt and Castiel was gone.

"The most important thing you can do for Sam is remember that he is still Sam," Doctor Maddox said. "With the changes you have noted already, it might be tempting to treat him as a child, to 'take care' of him and protect him, treating him differently to how you would had he broken a bone. He isn't broken, and he isn't a child. To treat him as one would be damaging. He is who he always was but it's like he's seeing through a fogged window. The world isn't very clear to him right now. Sam needs to feel as normal as possible."

"I can do that," Dean said. "What else?"

"Be patient. There may be days on which he'll need extra help to do simple things—that may be all days—but give him time to do things at his own speed. It might take him longer to articulate a thought or need, but don't speak for him if you can help it. Don't try to spare him jobs that you can do yourself faster to ease the weight on him. Let him do as much as he can. If there are dishes to be done, for instance, let Sam help if he's physically able. The worst thing he can do it sit idle while everything is done for him. He needs to have as much involvement in real life as he can." She looked Dean in the eye. "One of the most important things you can do is take care of yourself. This is going to be difficult for you. Even if there is no more damage than has already presented itself, Sam will need to be monitored. The seizures, depending on the control we can gain over them, will need to be managed as they come. We will educate you on how to deal with them for when they do come. You're going to be exhausted if you don't take care, Dean. Alfie says you're going to stay with him, yes?"

"Yeah."

"Then let him help as much as he can. Your instinct might be to take care of Sam by yourself, to not put upon other people more than you have to, but that will wear you out fast, and ultimately you and Sam will both suffer for it. Sam will see what it's doing to you. Do you think that will upset him?"

"Definitely," Dean said.

"Then ease that weight on you both by caring for yourself as much as you do Sam. It's going to be emotionally tough as well as physically, so take breaks frequently. Even if you only go to the store, give yourself space when you need it. Reach for help when you need it." She smiled at Alfie. "With Alfred, you'll have the best doctor I have ever worked with and one of the kindest men I know helping you. Take advantage of it."

Alfie cleared his throat. "Use us, Dean. Elsie and I are going to be right there with you, so tell us what you need when you need it."

"I will," Dean said, though he wasn't sure he would be able to. He and Sam were a unit. Even taking help from Bobby had sometimes felt wrong.

"Sam will be monitored for a few more days before we can think of him being discharged," she said. "The timing depends on any physical restrictions he has. I would use that time to explore as many of the changes you can. Learn as much as you can to be better equipped to help him when he leaves. We will run more tests, but you can gauge him much better than us by comparing him from before to now."

Dean braced himself as he asked the question that he was scared to have answered. "Can he get better? Is there a way he can heal from this?"

She set looked serious as she said, "Brain cells are unusual as, unlike most cells in the body, they don't regenerate. The damaged and dead tissue will not heal, but that said, the brain is incredible. It won't heal, but it can forge new nerve pathways and use undamaged parts of the brain that it didn't access before. There is no way of knowing what faculties Sam will regain, but there is a good chance it would be some."

"He could get better?" Dean asked. When she didn't answer, he looked at Alfie. "He could be really him again, right? How he was before, I mean."

"There is no way to be sure, Dean," Alfie said. "The brain _is_ incredible, but there is no way of knowing how Sam's brain will react. I think it's better to expect less and be pleased with more than it is to be disappointed."

"It will take time," Doctor Maddox said. "We used to believe there was a two-year window in which recovery could happen, but that's been disproved now. As long as Sam lives, he could regain skills."

"Years?" Dean breathed. "It could take years."

He couldn't wrap his mind around it. It could even take all that time and nothing would change. Sam could remain this confused for the rest of his life. And would it end there? They had a heaven together. Sure, Sam's part was a stream of some of Dean's crappiest hits, but it was together. If they made it there, was Sam going to be healed or was this it for him now?

"Yes, years," Alfie said gently. "This is going to be a long, hard road. You can help though. Concentrate on making this as easy for Sam and yourself as you can, hope for the best but don't expect too much. That way anything else that comes is a blessing."

Doctor Maddox nodded. "Keeping him active is a good step for that. Don't let Sam just languish and dwell on what's happened. Stimulate him. Make his brain work."

"Is there anything else I need to know?" Dean asked. "I want to be ready when the shrink is finished with him."

"There are things to discuss, but we can come to them later. You should take some time to process what we have said. When Sam is finished with Doctor Platt, we'll move him to a different ward, so it might be better if you're ready when he's being moved to help him settle in."

Dean stood and shook her proffered hand. "Thanks, Doc."

"I'm sorry I couldn't give you the news you were hoping for," she said.

"It could have been worse," Dean said, glancing at Alfie who nodded his agreement. "He's alive at least."

And that was what he had to cling to. Sam was damaged and changed, and he might never be the same again, but he was alive.

That didn't stop the tears from falling as he walked back to Sam's room though.

* * *

 **So… We know the real subject of the story now. I have never written Sam like this before, and it's been a challenge. I hope I'll be able to do it justice.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	9. Chapter 8

**Thank you Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me and Gredelina1 for all your support. Thank you all for reading x**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Eight**_

By the time Dean had calmed himself and was ready to go in to Sam, Doctor Platt was just finishing up with him. Alfie had given him some space, but he appeared just as the doctor exited the room and met Dean in the hall.

"How did it go?" Dean asked.

"It was very helpful," Doctor Platt said. "There are some things we need to discuss, but I think it's better now for you to have some time with Sam. He is a little distressed."

Dean glowered at him. "What did you say to him?"

"Nothing," he said calmly. "Sam saw Bobby again while we were talking, and it upset him. Despite that, I have been able to make a good assessment of his condition and I can now make a plan of action for treatment."

"Sure," Dean said distractedly. "That's fine." He just wanted to get to Sam.

"Doctor Maddox said they're moving him and will be removing the ICP catheter later. I will come to you when they have taken him for the procedure and we can talk then."

"I can't be with him while they do it?" Dean asked, looking to Alfie.

"You wouldn't want to be," Alfie said. "Sam will be under conscious sedation, so he will be fine, but it could be upsetting for you."

Like that was something new, Dean thought. This whole thing had been more than upsetting. It had been impossible. He wasn't sure he was able to deal with it anymore.

Doctor Platt held out his hand and Dean shook it automatically before he excused himself and reached for a gown so he could go into Sam.

"There's no need for that, Dean," Jean said, coming along the hall with an orderly Dean hadn't met yet. "Sam's new room is ready, so Stephen and I are moving him now."

Relieved, Dean opened the door and went in. Sam was staring out of the window again, his face pensive and sad. He didn't look around until Dean called his name and then he looked almost annoyed.

"Hey, Sammy, they're going to take you to your new room now," he said.

"Are you coming?" Sam asked.

"Of course. We'll get you settled right in. They're going to take one of the tubes out later, too, so you can get up and out of bed again."

"Not now?" he asked.

"No, not now, but soon."

Sam nodded but didn't looked happy at the thought of some more freedom.

Jean came into the room and introduced Stephen to Sam as she began to move and disconnect the equipment beside the bed. Sam watched her carefully and then eyed Stephen as he disengaged the brakes from the bed.

"Ready to go, Sam?" he asked.

"I guess."

Alfie opened the second side of the door and locked it in place so they could wheel the bed out. "Where are you taking him?" he asked.

"Room 315," Stephen said.

"I will retrieve your things from the locker room and meet you there, Dean," Alfie said.

"Thanks," Dean said and watched Sam carefully as he gripped the sidebars of the bed. They steered him away from the wall and to the door, and Dean noticed that Sam looked almost scared. As Dean had seen him face off with Lucifer himself and handle it, Dean felt a jolt at the obvious fear in his brother for something so simple.

He stayed at Sam's side as they rolled him down to the hall to the elevator. It was a squeeze in the car with the bed and three people, but Dean scrunched himself against the wall and smiled reassuringly at Sam. When the doors opened, he stepped out and walked with them to the new room where a nurse was waiting at the door.

"Megan, this is Sam Smith and his brother," Jean said, gesturing to them each in turn.

"Hello, Sam," she said with a sweet smile. "Welcome to the rehabilitation ward. I'm going to be your assigned nurse for my shifts, so you'll see a lot of me while you're here."

"Won't she stay?" he asked, gesturing at Jean.

Dean didn't think he had any affection for any of the staff he'd met so far, but Jean had been the one there when Sam had woken from his sedation and given him something to drink. That must have had an effect on him after all.

"I can't stay, Sam," Jean said. "I am going to be needed on the ICU. Megan is here though, and she will take good care of you."

Sam narrowed his eyes but nodded.

They wheeled him into the room, and Dean saw it was different to the one he had been in before. There was a comfortable looking chair beside the spot the bed would be parked, and the other chairs in the room were padded though still wipe-clean. There were blinds at the window and a vase of what looked like plastic flowers on the bedside locker. On the other side of the room to the bed was a door that Dean saw opened into a bathroom.

"It's nice," he said.

"It's different," Sam stated.

The locked his bed in place and reconnected his heart monitor and reattached the blood pressure cuff to his arm.

"There," Megan said. "Is that more comfortable?"

"It's different," he said again.

"I like it," Dean said. "The chairs look much more comfortable." He pulled one from by the wall up close to the bed and sat down. "Yep, much better."

Megan hung Sam's IV bag on a hook and said, "I'll give you two a little while to settle in, but I will come back soon. If there's anything you need, there's a call button here on the bed."

"Thanks," Dean said.

She smiled at him and then she and Stephen left the room.

"How are you doing, Sam?" Dean asked. "You okay?"

Sam considered a moment, and Dean thought he was going to give more of an answer than the curt sentences that he had so far, but he didn't. Instead, he asked, "Where did Bobby go?"

Dean sighed. "I don't know, Sammy. I guess he only had a minute to come by and see you before he had to get back to work. You know what he's like when he's on a hunt."

"Did you see him, too?"

"No. I was with the other doctor when he came."

"He wants you to see him. He told me."

"I will," Dean said.

Sam nodded, apparently satisfied, and then tensed as there was a knock on the door and Alfie peered inside.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

"Sure, Alfie" Dean said with a smile, wanting to make the meeting as easy on Sam as he could by presenting it as a positive.

Alfie came in carrying Dean's duffel. "Your locker was a mess, Dean," he said amiably. "I imagined you as a man that would have more military precision."

"Not me," Dean said. "Sam's more like that."

Alfie turned to Sam and smiled. "Hello, Sam. It's nice to be able to meet you properly at last. You have been busy since you woke up."

Sam frowned at him. "Dean says you're good. Are you?"

"I like to think so," Alfie said calmly. "I was certainly a good doctor if my patients were telling me the truth."

"They didn't die?" Sam asked bluntly.

"The ones that lived said I was good," Alfie said.

Sam looked thoughtful. "I guess that's okay then. You're taking care of Dean?"

"I am doing my best. I think it will be easier now that you're awake to share the load with me."

"I take care of him."

"I thought that would be the case," Alfie said agreeably. "Now we can work together to take care of both you and Dean."

Sam smiled slightly. It was the closest thing to happiness Dean had seen in him since he had woken and seen Bobby. "Yeah. We can do that."

Alfie set down the duffel and pulled up a chair beside Dean. "Do you have any tips for taking care of him that I should know?" he asked Sam.

Sam frowned, clearly thinking carefully before answering. "He drinks too much and eats bad food. He isn't careful sometimes, and he worries a lot."

It was more than Dean had heard him say for a while, and it was habits of Dean that Sam would have answered with before. He was relieved that these details were still there for him. He still recognized Dean, and he _knew_ him, too.

"I think I have seen some of that worry myself," Alfie said. "We will try to make that easier by taking care of you. What do you think?"

"Yeah," Sam said, smiling again. "We can try."

Dean laughed. "I am sitting right here," he said. "How about you wait for me to leave the room before you discuss me."

"My apologies," Alfie said, his lips twitching. "We will remember to ask you to leave next time."

Dean looked with false despair at Sam and was pleased to see his eyes were bright with amusement.

Seeing his face, Sam began to laugh. It was a rich and infectious sound. Dean had always been helpless in face of Sam's laughter, unable to keep from joining in, and he did so now. It felt good, freeing, and the relief that Sam could still do this for him, lift him up like that, was heady. He really was Sam still. He was just struggling now.

His amusement quickly turned into something different at the thought of that struggle. His laughter took on a tinge of hysteria, and his eyes began to tear. He wiped at them and tried to calm himself, not wanting to upset Sam, but Sam saw it as he always had before.

"Are you okay, Dean?" he asked.

Dean nodded and wiped at his eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine, Sammy."

Sam clearly didn't believe him, but he didn't push. Dean was equally relieved and disappointed. Before, he would have pushed Dean until he snapped at him or was forced to feel his feels. Maybe it was Alfie's presence that stopped him. Or maybe this was just another change to live with.

* * *

Sam grew upset when they came to take him down to have the ICP catheter removed; he was scared, and he was not reassured when Dean and Alfie tried to talk him down from his fear. They had a whispered discussion with Doctor Maddox before deciding that the best approach was to give him the sedation they would use before he went down. They used a drug to induce conscious sedation and it worked quickly. Sam still seemed vaguely aware and answered Dean when he told him he would be right there when he woke up, but he wasn't upset anymore.

When they wheeled him out, Dean had a moment to rake a hand over his face and try to gather his thoughts before Doctor Platt came in. "Are you free to talk now, Dean?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure," Dean said.

Alfie stood. "I should get home now. Dean, there is some spaghetti and meatballs in the staff fridge waiting for you. I have already checked that it's okay for you to store your food there and use their facilities. You won't need to sleep in the family room anymore either, as the chair here can be extended to use as a sleeper chair. Someone will bring you blankets and a pillow later."

"Thanks, Alfie," Dean said gratefully.

Alfie picked up his jacket and waved as he left the room. Doctor Platt took his seat and turned it so he was facing Dean.

"Well, Dean, I know Sam won't be gone too long, so I think we should push on with what I have discovered and planned."

"Sure," Dean said tiredly. "Go ahead." He wasn't disinterested, he was just worn down by the news he'd already received today and wasn't really ready to receive more.

The doctor had a file on his lap, but he didn't open it as he began speaking. "Sam was initially distrustful of me, and I had to work carefully to enable him to speak freely."

"Yeah, Sam's like that."

He nodded. "He did eventually open up to me though, and I was able to get a good view of his mental state. I have since spoken to Doctor Maddox and she told me about his cognitive impairment. I had some idea after speaking to him, but it is my belief that with this diagnosis an improvement in treatment will come." He opened the file. "Now, I don't believe Sam's impairment is related in full to the symptoms that are presenting for him mentally now. I think it's the cause rather than effect."

Dean leaned forward in his seat, willing the doctor to get on with it.

"Once he did start speaking, Sam was surprisingly honest with me. At least I assume it was honest, as what I heard was extraordinary."

Dean wondered what he had told him. Had he opened up about being in the Cage with Lucifer and what had led him to be there? If he had, they were going to be treating Sam all wrong, as that was the truth not another symptom.

"Sam told me that his trauma involved being kept in a cage and hurt by two people called Michael and… Lucifer?"

"Yeah, that's what Sam calls him anyway," Dean said carefully.

"I see. I thought it was an unusual name. As I said, he was kept in a cage at some point in his trauma, and he was hurt which I assume to mean he underwent torture of some kind."

"Definitely," Dean said.

He made a note on the file. "This trauma was obviously great, and it has had a profound effect on him. He said he has been 'seeing' Lucifer for a long time since the trauma. Is that correct?"

Dean nodded.

He made another note. "That hallucination is what concerns me and also drives me to my conclusion. I am confident with what Sam has told me to diagnose Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. This is a name that brings to mind all kinds of difficulties, I know, but the thing to do with a diagnosis like this is to accept and prepare to treat. Dwelling on the name of it will not help anyone, least of all Sam."

Dean leaned back, trying to wrap his mind around what he was hearing. If he'd thought of what happened to Sam in human terms, he would have thought the same thing, but for him it had been explained as Hell leaking through, and with Castiel's dire warning, it made perfect sense. It was trauma though, the worst possible imaginable, and Sam was still suffering from it, so that made it a kind of stress, though that word didn't seem like enough.

"Sam told me some of the things that happened to him and what they did, though I am sure it was more complex that the actions he described."

"What did they do?" Dean asked. Sam had never really opened up about what had happened to him. The word hell explained enough since they both had experienced it.

"I can't disclose the details," he said. "Despite Sam's current situation, he has the right to confidentiality, and he didn't wish for me to tell you. He didn't want to upset you, I believe."

This doctor knew more about Sam's time in hell than Dean did. It felt wrong, but he remembered how little he had wanted to tell Sam about his own Hell experience, so he understood. He was even pleased that Sam was aware enough to want privacy to protect Dean. He was still trying to shelter him.

"Now, treatment options," Doctor Platt said. "I would ordinarily treat Sam with a combination of therapies. I will start him on an antidepressant. Interestingly, the medication Doctor Maddox has prescribed for Sam's seizures also has an effect on mood disorders, so there's a chance it may aid him." He hesitated. "I would also like to start Sam on antipsychotics."

"He's not crazy!" Dean said angrily.

"No, he is not," the doctor agreed. "He has a mental health condition that needs to be treated. The word psychotic has become synonymous with insanity when that isn't the truth. All kinds of mental health conditions can cause someone to suffer psychosis. PTSD is just one of them. Sam's hallucinations are a form of it and that's what I hope the medication will treat. At the moment, he is at the mercy of these episodes, and I am sure you agree that he should be protected from them, especially given his other impairment."

"Okay, fine," Dean capitulated, not sure Sam needed the medication, but not having the energy to argue any further. "Give him what you think he needs."

He made a note and then looked up again. "I would also like Sam to engage in therapy. A successful treatment for PTSD is exposure therapy, though I don't think that is advisable in Sam's condition, as he may not be in a position to differentiate between what we are trying to do and what is real. What I am suggesting is talking therapy. I would like to meet with him regularly to explore his thoughts and beliefs and try to help him find a way to deal with them."

"I'm guessing no one's told you that we've got no insurance then," Dean said. "We're already going to be swamped with bills when we get out of here. We can't afford more." Not that there was any chance of them actually being able to pay those bills or even trying to. Sam and Dean Smith didn't really exist.

"That is not a problem," he said. "I would like to take on Sam's care pro bono. I am not going to lie; my intentions are not altogether altruistic. Sam's case, with his condition combined with his impairment, is unlike anything I've ever seen before. I would like to explore treatment for him and make it a case study for an article."

"You want him to be a guinea pig?" Dean asked, glowering at him.

"No, I want to use Sam's experience and situation to help other people in the future. If we can find a treatment for him that works, we can use it for others, too."

"I don't know," Dean said, some of his anger leeching from him. "I don't want Sam's name and story to be picked over by a bunch of shrinks."

He smiled at the term. "Sam will remain anonymous if I do write an article. All he would be known for is his diagnosis. I will even arrange appointments to be held at home. There will be no need for Sam to return to the hospital, as I know he isn't comfortable here."

"I'm not sure," Dean said. "This therapy thing might backfire."

"How could it?" he asked. "What are you afraid of, Dean?"

What he was scared of was that Sam might slip. If he started talking about the devil and the apocalypse he could get locked up. He and Sam had both managed to be checked into the institution after they'd spilled the truth of the world to that doctor in Oklahoma.

"I don't know," he said evasively.

"I think you do."

Dean sighed. "What if he says something you don't like. What if he says something you think really is crazy?"

"First of all, I would never use that word, and secondly, it's unlikely that Sam can say anything more shocking than what I have already heard in my career. If he was to say something… disturbing, I would explore it if I believe Sam is able to, and if not, I would revisit it at a later point."

"You won't lock him up?" Dean asked.

"No, Dean. The only reason Sam would need to be hospitalized for his condition is if I believed him to be a danger to himself or others. The time has long since passed in which we locked people up for psychosis. As long as he is cared for and safe, there is no need to bring him in again. Sam is showing no signs of being a danger, so I would be happy to recommend him to be discharged into your care. I sincerely hope you will allow me to treat him still though. I think I can really help him."

Dean nodded. He believed him, though it was hard to.

"I'll think about it," he said. "That's the best I can do."

"Very well. There is something else I wish to discuss, and I don't anticipate that we will have much longer before Sam returns."

"What?" Dean asked.

"Bobby. I don't believe that Sam's sightings of your friend are the same as his PTSD. That's something I would like to explore in further sessions. I don't believe his absences are seizures either. I am not disputing that Sam is epileptic," he said, breaking Dean's moment of hope. "But I think they are something different. He showed no other signs of a petit mal seizure when he had an episode in our meeting, and when he came out of it he told me it was Lucifer. I think they are psychological in nature rather than a physical manifestation of brain disturbance. I have a theory, and I would like to see what you think. Do you think Sam might be withdrawing to deal with the memories of what happened to him without causing you or others distress? Is that something Sam would do?"

Dean nodded at once. It was a total Sam move to do it like that. He would absolutely want to protect Dean from that. He hadn't wanted to tell him about Lucifer at all in the beginning. It was only when Death outed him that he had come clean. Sam was usually a talker. He wanted to discuss everything openly when it came to Dean, but when he was hurting, he was more reclusive. He was like a wounded animal sometimes—seeking solitude.

"Then we will work on that, too, if I am allowed the chance, of course. We will try to make Sam be open and therefore we'll be able to monitor him better."

Dean ran a hand through his hair and checked the time. Sam should be back soon.

"Do you have any questions for me, Dean?" he asked.

"Yeah. Doctor Maddox said I shouldn't correct Sam when he sees Bobby, and he's asking about Jess too now. I don't want to hurt him, but I want to do what's right for him."

He considered. "Did it hurt Sam very much when these people passed?"

"More than you can imagine," Dean said instantly, remembering Sam's grief for Bobby and his total devastation in the wake of Jessica's death.

"Then don't tell him. Guard him from it. You must have felt the same grief."

"Yeah. Losing Bobby was tough."

"In that case, protect him from feeling that grief again. There is no reason for him to experience those feelings even once more. Lie if you can, evade if you can't, but don't correct him unless forced."

There was movement at the door and they stood as Sam's bed was wheeled in. He looked drowsy, but the turban of bandages was gone and been replaced with a small white dressing on his temple.

"I will find you tomorrow, Dean, and see if you have come to a decision regarding my treatment plan."

"Yeah, thanks," Dean said distractedly.

Dean pulled back the chairs so they could situate Sam again as the doctor slipped out. Dean waited for Sam to be settled and then he sat down beside him again.

It was time to take care of Sam again.

* * *

 **So… I knew this story had to be dealing with Sam in human terms and the more I read about PTSD, the more sense it made that was what his Cage trauma was presenting as.**

 **I have written PTSD before in Picking Up The Pieces, and my hope now is the same as it was then—to show respect and realism. I don't want to insult anyone with my portrayal. I have researched as much as I can, but if I make a mistake in my representation, I apologize.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	10. Chapter 9

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for working your beta magic on this for me and Gredelina1 for all your help. Thank you all for reading and reviewing. You're all awesome.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Nine**_

Dean was woken the next morning by Alfie's arrival. He thought at first that they'd slept later than usual—Sam was still sleeping—but when he checked his watch, he saw that it was still quite early. He pushed down the feet on to the sleeper chair and took off his blanket.

"Good morning, Dean," Alfie said cheerfully. "How was your night?"

"Better," Dean said. "This chair is way more comfortable than the couch was, and Sam slept well. I only woke a few times, and when I did, he was out."

Alfie handed him a paper cup of coffee and pulled up a chair. "The couch must have been _really_ uncomfortable if that is better. I heard people complain about those chairs for years."

"Believe me, it's a step up," Dean said.

"This must have been very difficult for you."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, it's been tough for sure."

He had been through actual hell before, but this had been worse. There wasn't much in his life that he'd experienced that had been harder than this, and the things that were this kind of bad all centered around people he loved dying.

He sipped his coffee and said, "You're here early."

"I was sent," he said. "Elsie wanted you to have a fresh breakfast, and I was getting under her feet. She's preparing the house for your stay, and I was trying to help. I should have learned before now that my help is not always welcome when she has a project. There was little to do in the garden, so I left her to do it unhindered."

"Well, it's good to see you. I wanted to get cleaned up, but I didn't want to leave Sam alone in case he wakes up."

"I can stay with him," Alfie said. "You take care of yourself for a while."

Dean thanked him then got out of his chair and carried his coffee out and along the halls to the locker room where he'd stowed his duffel the night before. He nodded a greeting to the people at the nurses' station as he passed and smiled. The rehab ward was much nicer than the ICU had been. The people there had been great and very kind to him, but there had always been an underlying tension there due to the seriousness of their work and the precarious condition of the patients. Rehab was calmer, though it was louder.

He drank the last of his coffee and tossed the cup into the bin before opening his duffel and taking clean clothes and his wash kit out. He figured with Alfie watching Sam, he had long enough to shower properly.

He set his clothes down on the bench and went into one of the curtained off showers. The water ran cool and gradually built to hot, but Dean wasted no time before shampooing his hair and soaping up. He still didn't want to be gone longer than he had to be. The water felt good though. It eased some of the knotted muscles that had been tense so long he'd stopped noticing them. It was only when they were relaxed that he realized how bad a state he'd been in.

When he was cleaned up, he dried off and wrapped a towel around himself and went back to the benches to dress. He left his chest bare as he moved to the mirror to brush his teeth and shave.

He was just swiping the razor over his chin when the door opened and a smell of vomit preceded a man into the room. He was about Sam's age and he was wearing pale green scrubs, the shirt of which he carefully pulled off and tossed into a laundry bag. Dean saw a spatter of puke on it.

"You're Dean, right?" he asked. "Sam Smith's brother. I heard you'd be in here."

"Yeah," Dean said, rinsing his face and patting it dry with a towel.

"I'm Ethan." He gestured to the laundry bag. "One of the patients didn't tolerate his meds as well as we'd hoped."

"Not Sam?"

"No, Sam's fine. He's happy talking with your buddy. I'm going to be his assigned nurse today. We're trying to give him continuity of care by sticking with the same staff as much as we can. It's proven to provide better care for someone with Sam's condition."

"Brain damage you mean?"

Ethan shook his head as he took a clean scrub top from a locker and pulled it on. "I don't like that term. I prefer injured. Damaged seems final, and those kinds of injuries rarely are. Sam doesn't need to hear it either. Injuries can heal. Survivor is another word I like to use."

Dean thought of all the things Sam had been through in his life and realized the term was perfect. Sam had been through tremendous grief and loss, demonic and archangel possession, a lifetime of monsters and a demon's plan set into action when he was just six months old. He had actually gone to Hell and been trapped there almost two centuries. Yeah, he was a survivor.

He even felt a little better at the idea. He had treated this thing like a tragedy and it was, but it was also one more thing for them to fight their way through: another case. They knew what the monsters they were facing were—a brain injury, epilepsy, PTSD—and now they had to find out how to beat them. Medication, therapy, and time were the first steps. Dean needed to educate himself, read the "lore" associated with Sam's conditions. He needed to be prepared for whatever these monsters threw at them the same way he would on a hunt. He was going to give Sam the best chance at getting back to how he had been as he could. This time he had to do his own research, not rely on Sam's.

"I think survivor works," he said. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

"Anytime," Ethan said easily, moving to the basin to wash his hands.

Dean quickly packed up his kit and stowed it back into the locker before pulling on a t-shirt and buttoning up his shirt over it. "I'll see you," he said before slipping through the door onto the ward.

When he got to Sam's room, he saw he was sitting up in bed with a Tupperware bowl on his lap, spooning up fruit salad. Dean grimaced at the thought that fruit was on offer for him, too, and then smiled as Sam grinned at him. "Alfie's wife sent this for us."

"You sure that's not my breakfast you're eating, Sam?" he asked with false seriousness.

"Would I let him do that after what he said about you eating the wrong food?" Alfie asked. "Elsie sent plenty for you both."

"You'll like it," Sam said guilelessly.

Dean watched him spoon up some blueberries and smiled. "I'm sure."

"Elsie is a woman on a mission," Alfie explained. "I told her about your dietary habits, Dean, and she is going to make some good, wholesome food you."

Dean scowled. "You've busted me, Sam. I was getting pie, too."

"Dean likes pie," Sam supplied.

"Well I am sure she can still be persuaded to make a pie," Alfie said with a smile.

Sam laughed at Dean and, feeling the lightness Sam brought when he was like this, Dean pointed at him. "Yeah, laugh it up, I heard it's cheeseburgers for lunch."

Sam shook his head. "Alfie brought sandwiches, too."

"Doomed to a life of health," Dean said sadly.

"Yes, you are," Alfie said. "Now that we know the truth, we'll be very careful with you. Once my Elsie gets something in her head, she's unstoppable. She's a forceful character, and her mission now is your heart health."

Sam laughed, and Dean relaxed. It all felt so normal and right. He could almost believe the doctors were wrong about Sam's brain injury. But then his bubble was burst as Sam paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth and his gaze became unfocused.

"Sammy?" he asked.

Alfie held up a hand to him and watched Sam carefully. "This is not a seizure," he said quietly. "Something else is going on."

"That's what the shrink said," Dean agreed. "He thought it could be Sam's way of protecting me from what he's seeing with the trauma."

"He could be right," Alfie said. "The brain can be a mystery even to me. There's no real way to know exactly what's going on unless Sam can tell us what happens to him. We shouldn't ask him though; it might upset him. We have to wait to see if he tells us himself."

Sam stayed inside himself for a long time. Ethan came in before he returned and frowned when he realized why Sam didn't answer his greeting. He didn't push him; he just waited for Sam to take a deep breath and his eyes to focus again.

He seemed a little confused, and blinked drowsily at Ethan as he said, "The doctor is coming in soon to run through some more checks with you, Sam."

"I don't like having checks."

"I know you're probably tired of them, but the sooner they're done, the sooner they can work out when you can get out of here," he said. "You want to get home, don't you?"

"Yes," Sam said quickly. "I want to go now."

"Maybe not now, but soon, I'm sure. And the checks are a big step towards that. So I was thinking maybe you'd want to get cleaned up before they come. Have a wash and a shave."

Sam rubbed a hand over the scruff on his jaw and nodded. "I want that."

"Have you got some clean clothes?" he asked. "I bet you're sick of the hospital clothes."

"I don't know," Sam said, then glanced at Dean. "Have I got something?"

"You should have some sweats in your duffel," he said, thinking of the clothes Sam had bought when he started his running sessions. "I'll go get them."

"Okay," Sam said, looking a little unsure.

Dean stood and smiled reassuringly at Sam. "I'm coming right back."

"Thank you."

"I'll come, too," Alfie said. "I should stretch my legs."

They walked out of the room and along the hall to the elevators. Alfie pressed the button to summon a car, and when it stopped, there were already people in it. They stepped in and rode down in the awkward silence of a group of strangers trapped together for a short time. It pinged to a stop and then all stepped out and went their separate ways, Dean and Alfie heading for the exit.

Dean realized as he stepped outside, that he hadn't had real fresh air for days, not since he'd gone to retrieve his duffel from the car and check it out after Garth called him to say it was ready. He drew deep breaths and smiled slightly. It felt good, normal.

"It's been a while since you saw the sun too, hasn't it?" Alfie asked.

"We had a window," Dean said with a shrug.

"That's not the same and you know it. This is called taking care of yourself, Dean, as we keep reminding you."

"It'll be easier now," Dean said. "Sam's doing better, and he'll hopefully be out of here soon. We can take care of each other then."

They got to the spot where Garth had parked the Impala and Alfie examined it. It was an insult to the name Impala, a plastic piece of crap, but it was roadworthy and legal, and therefore not going to get them busted for grand theft auto.

"So this is the car Sam told me you call Baby," Alfie said.

"What? No!" Dean said, offended on behalf of the real Impala.

"It's not?" Alfie frowned.

Dean realized his mistake and quickly tried to cover. "No, I mean yeah, this is Baby." He felt wrong even saying the words.

He saw Alfie was unsure, but he didn't push the subject. He waited beside the car as Dean rooted through the duffels of weapons looking for the one with Sam's clothes in it. He pulled it out and slammed the trunk closed. He started back to the entrance, and then realized Alfie wasn't with him. He turned back and saw Alfie standing by the cars still. "What's up?" he asked.

"We need to talk," Alfie said, walking to meet him.

"About?"

"Sam's diagnoses."

"Can we not?" Dean asked. "Can't we just get this back to Sam?"

"We can do half of those things," Alfie agreed. "We can take Sam his things, and then we can talk while he washes up."

Dean frowned. "And if I don't want to?"

"I don't imagine you do, but as this is for Sam, I think you will."

Dean walked away to the entrance and then through the lobby to the elevators. Alfie fell into step at his side and neither of them spoke as they waited for the elevator car and rode up to the third floor. When they got into the room again, Dean saw that Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed looking expectant. The IV in his hand had been clipped off.

"Ethan said I can get up now," he said happily.

Dean looked to Ethan for confirmation and he nodded. "We've already tested Sam's strength and balance. He knows he's going to feel a little weak, but he's ready to try."

"You sure, Sam?" Dean asked.

"Yes!" Sam snapped. "I want to."

Dean raised a hand. "Okay, man. As long as you're ready, go ahead." He handed Ethan the duffel and said, "Everything you'll need is in there."

"Here we go then, Sam," Ethan said, moving to stand beside him. "Just like before. Lean on me if you need to."

Sam rose to his feet slowly and laid a hand on Ethan's arm to get his balance before setting off to the bathroom. He looked a little unsteady but he was doing it, and Dean didn't want to make him pissed again, so he didn't ask if he was okay.

"Well, you're much taller than I realized," Alfie said. "Seeing you lying down was deceptive."

"Tell me about it," Dean said. "Kid's a damn giant."

"Not a kid, Dean," Sam said, though there was no heat to the words. He walked into the bathroom and Ethan followed him in and shut the door behind them.

"Very tall," Alfie said thoughtfully. "But he is younger?"

"Yeah. He was a midget growing up, and then he went through this growth spurt around sixteen and I don't think he's stopped growing since."

Alfie smiled. "It's good sometimes for the younger sibling to have some advantages."

"He's definitely got them," Dean said. "He's smart as a whip and his hands are damn fast. He…" He trailed off as he realized what he was saying. Sam was smart as a whip but he couldn't access that now. He was tottering across the room to get to the bathroom. If Dean put a gun in his hands now, would he lock and load like lightning still or would he not know what he was doing?"

Alfie seemed to know what he was thinking as he said, "He's still that person."

"I know," Dean said. "What did you want to say about Sam before?" He didn't want to hear it, but at the same time he didn't want to explore the other topic more.

Alfie sat down and smoothed the wrinkles in his pants. "I was wondering if you wanted to speak about what happened yesterday with Doctor Platt, what you discovered."

"I didn't think they'd tell you anything about it."

"They didn't. I read Sam's chart while he was sleeping. I wasn't prying," he said quickly. "I was just checking on his stats and the diagnosis was listed there."

"He's got PTSD," Dean said. "Did you know that before?"

"I thought it could be from what you said, yes. What have they recommended as treatment?"

"He's got to take some meds now. Antidepressants and an antipsychotic."

"Is that all?"

Dean shrugged. "The shrink was talking about therapy, too. He's offered to do it pro bono, coming to Sam instead of me bringing him back here all the time."

"That's wonderful. It will make the process much easier on Sam. They can use my study to meet in. It's at the rear of the house, so we won't disturb them while they're talking, and it's comfortable."

"I don't know," Dean said evasively. "I'm still not sure we're saying yes yet."

"Why wouldn't you?" Alfie asked. "This is a gift, Dean. He's willing to do it for no charge. Do you know what therapy would cost otherwise?"

"He wants to use Sam as a guinea pig. He wants to do some case study and then write an article about him."

"Would that be so bad? What is an article for but to share knowledge and help others? I have written many in my life, and I never thought of a patient as a guinea pig. They were enabling me and others to save lives in the future. Why would you deny Sam something he needs out of some false sense of protection or pride?"

Dean frowned. "You think this is about my pride?"

"Don't you? Be honest with yourself. Is this not even a little bit about Doctor Platt offering to do something for Sam that you think you should be able to do yourself? I have seen how much you love your brother and how hard you will fight for him, but this time that fight isn't just on you. It's on me and Elsie, Katherine and Doctor Platt, the nurses and orderlies; we're all fighting for Sam. You would not deny Sam treatment from a surgeon as they can do something for Sam that you can't, so why would you deny Doctor Platt's expertise?"

Dean considered. He had thought he was protecting Sam by not agreeing to the therapy straight away because he didn't want Sam's condition to be splashed across journals and articles. He didn't think Sam would want that, but now he thought he might be wrong. If Sam knew he could help other people somehow, he would agree to it in a heartbeat. He was a hunter, a man that gave everything to help.

Dean hadn't lived a sheltered life—it was the furthest thing from it in fact—but he had lived in a kind of bubble. He'd known about the real world, the world of demons and monsters, since he was a kid, but he didn't know enough about the world other people lived in. Before Lisa, he hadn't had a normal home since he was a child; he'd never paid a utility bill in his life or written a check; he'd barely dealt with doctors and never real insurance. That was Lisa's world, Alfie's world, and he needed help. He had to let Alfie guide him.

"Okay," he said. "He can do it, help Sam. I'll let him, and I'll explain it to Sam. He was pretty honest with the doc yesterday, so maybe he will be again." Though hopefully not too honest.

"Good," Alfie said, satisfied. "While we're on the topic of explaining things, how much of Sam's diagnoses do you plan to share with him?"

"I don't know. Do I have to tell him any of it? It might really upset him to know about his PTSD or brain injury."

"It might, and perhaps waiting to see how Sam settles would be wise before springing that on him, but I think he should know about the seizures. If one strikes again, a big one, he won't be unaware of it. It will be far more frightening if he doesn't know what's happening to him."

"I know," Dean said, raking a hand over his face. "I just don't want him to be scared."

"He will be more scared if it happens to him and he's not warned."

Dean thought back to his revelation that this was another case for them. He would never hold back information on what they were hunting, no matter how much it would scare Sam, because that would get him hurt. It would hurt Sam to not know what was happening to him now, too. This was how he could protect him: by arming him with information the way he would have armed him before with a gun. He wanted this case to be a win, so he had to do what he could to prepare them both.

"I'll tell him," he said. "And if there's a need to tell him about his injury or the PTSD at some point, I'll explain that, too. I don't think there's a reason to yet. He can't prepare himself for that."

"I agree," Alfie said. "There's one more thing," he said. "I have been given instructions by Elsie to find out a little more about you both. It's established that you are a pie man, and apparently Sam has distaste for cheeseburgers—which I don't think Elsie has ever cooked in her life—but I need to know more. Is there anything either of you are allergic to?"

"Nothing," Dean said.

"And what foods does Sam prefer?"

Dean considered. "He's not exactly fussy, but he does prefer being healthy. Eating on the road means he eats a lot of salad because even when we find a diner, he says they load extra fat and salt into everything. On the rare occasions we eat somewhere decent though, he'll eat anything that he calls 'real food'. He doesn't like burgers or fast food, but I'm guessing that won't be a problem with Elsie."

"You're quite right," he said. "She's is very much a three kinds of vegetables per meal cook. The only time I ate fries after I was married was in the cafeteria here. I miss them," he said a little dolefully.

Dean laughed. "Before they check Sam out, I'll buy you a cafeteria lunch. You can have all the fries you like."

"I'll hold you to that," Alfie said, pointing a finger at him. "Ah, here we are."

The bathroom door opened and Sam came out, followed by Ethan. He looked a little pale, as if he had worn himself out cleaning up, but better now he was cleanshaven and dressed in his own clothes. His eyes were bright, too, though when he got to the bed he sat quickly and sighed.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. Feel much better."

"You look it," Dean said. "More like yourself."

Sam nodded. He pulled himself up the bed and crossed his legs in front of him. He looked at Dean carefully while toying with the hem of his hoodie sleeve nervously. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Dean said quickly.

"You're upset." He looked at Alfie for an explanation. "What happened?"

Dean drew a breath and looked at Ethan. "Can you give us a minute? Maybe tell the doctors to give us a little longer before they come for their checks."

"Of course. Let me know when you're ready."

"Thanks," Dean said.

Ethan walked out and closed the door behind him. Alfie's eyes followed him and then he turned to Dean. "Would you like me to go too?"

"Sam?" Dean prompted. "We need to talk about some stuff. Do you want it to be just me and you?"

Sam narrowed his eyes. "What stuff?"

"Important stuff," Dean said evasively.

"About me?"

"Yeah," Dean said, refusing the urge to avert his eyes from Sam's to avoid seeing his distress.

"Alfie can stay," Sam said. "He's good."

"He is," Dean agreed, the innocent statement making him smile. He was pleased that Sam had taken to Alfie so quickly, just as he had. There was just something about the older man that made you trust him. He had a feel to him.

"Tell me," Sam said.

Dean gripped his knees and said, "When you were in the accident, you hit your head, Sam. Do you remember?"

"No."

"That's okay, it doesn't matter, but you were hurt. Before they could get you out of the wreck, you had a seizure. You had one when you were in the scanner before the surgery, too."

"Surgery?" Sam asked, his brow furrowed.

"They had to operate to save you. You'd hurt your liver, and there was another bleed and it was hurting you."

"Okay," Sam said slowly.

"You had more, Sammy. When they did the test on you with the light, it made you have another one, and there was one before you were awake."

"That's four," Sam said. "I don't remember them. Why don't I remember them?"

"It's normal," Alfie said. "You were unconscious for most of them, and it's common to have some amnesia of the event after. It's nothing to worry about."

"But they're gone," Sam stated. "So it's okay now that I'm awake."

Dean swallowed hard. "They're not, Sam. The test with the light was to find out if you were epileptic, and you are."

"I'll have more?"

Dean looked at Alfie pleadingly, needing him to intervene.

"Perhaps," Alfie said. "You have been started on a course of medication that will help to control them. That's one of the pills you've been taking. I have seen some people have no more once they're medicated. I have seen some have more before we find the right medication for them. It's trial and error."

"I don't want this," Sam said, his breath quickening. "I don't want seizures!"

"And I don't want you to have them," Dean said sadly. "But this is what's happening. We have to find a way to deal with it now. The medication will help you, but you need to keep taking it."

"It'll fix me?" Sam asked.

"It will help," Alfie said carefully.

Sam turned to Dean. "You'll fix me?"

Dean wished more than anything he could. "I am going to learn everything I can about it," he promised. "I'll know how to deal with it if it happens so I can keep you safe."

"I will teach him," Alfie said. "We can take care of you together."

Sam still looked unsettled. He frowned at Dean. "You can't fix me?"

Dean shook his head. "I wish I could, Sammy. You know I would if I could, but this is something we have to fight, not fix. Understand?"

A tear streaked down Sam's cheek and he wiped it away quickly. "I don't want this, Dean."

Dean stood and walked to the bed. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around Sam and pulled him close. He felt Sam's body shake as he began to cry openly.

"I don't want this," he moaned.

"And I don't want it for you," Dean said hoarsely. "But I'm going to take care of you like I always do. We're going to kick this thing in the ass and you'll be stronger."

He felt Sam stiffen and he pulled back quickly, thinking Sam was going to seize again. He didn't, but his face was blank and his eyes distant. Dean paled.

"He's okay, Dean," Alfie said.

"Yeah," Dean said quietly. "He'll come back, I know that, but what's he coming back to now he's scared? Look at him, Alfie. He's alive, he's here, but he's gone at the same time." He turned wet eyes on his friend. "And I can't fix him. He wants me to, he needs me to, but I can't save him from any of this."

"I know," Alfie said solemnly. "I'm sorry."

Dean turned to Sam again and waited for him to come back so he could do the little that was possible for him to help, wishing all the while there was a way for him to fix it for Sam.

* * *

 **So… That was a heck of a revelation for Sam. Being able to write his reaction as more than the dismissal we'd have in canon was a pleasant change.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	11. Chapter 10

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me and Gredelina1 for all your help and support.**

 **I am going to be leaving for Sweden to see Gredelina1 later today and I will be there until late on the 25** **th** **. I will try to keep to my Saturday update schedule, but it might be a little tough with WiFi issues. I will update as soon as I can though.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Ten**_

Dean pushed aside his plate and watched Alfie as he popped his fries into his mouth one by one with an almost blissful expression. "I forgot how good these are," he said. "I think it's the fact they're forbidden that adds to the taste."

Dean smiled, waiting until Alfie had eaten the last of his fries and wiped his mouth and hands with a napkin before he said, "Let's go through it one more time."

Alfie nodded and set down his napkin. His face became solemn. "What is the most important thing to remember if Sam is seizing?"

"Keep him from hurting himself," Dean said promptly.

"And how do you do that?"

"Try to help him to the floor if he's not already there. Move anything that he can hurt himself on out of the way. Try to position him on his side if I can safely."

"What do you not do?"

"Don't try to hold him down. Don't put anything in his mouth." He paused. "You sure about that last one? I thought there was something about them biting or swallowing their tongue."

"That used to be the way," Alfie said. "We equipped epileptics with rubber blocks to protect them, but thinking has changed since then. You're actually more likely to hurt yourself, and them, trying to put something in their mouth. It's better for them if you let them ride it out, interfering as little as you can."

"Got it."

"And when do you call 911?" Alfie asked.

Dean counted off on his fingers as he said, "If it lasts more than five minutes, if there are a lot at once without a break between, if he's having trouble breathing, if he's choking, or if he hurts himself."

"And if they happen closer together than usual," Alfie added. "We can judge these things at the time though. We will be together in this."

"Thanks, Alfie," Dean said. "I feel a lot better about this knowing you're going to be there."

"Good. Sam is going to be more closely watched than any patient I have had before. Between you and I, Elsie and Sam himself, we can take care of him. Now, shall we see if he's ready?"

Dean quickly drank the remains of his coffee and stood. "Yep. If he's done with Doctor Platt already, he's going to be pissed that we're not back. I don't think I've seen him so eager for something in years as he is getting out of here."

"He's had a difficult time here. It's natural for him to want to get away." He considered Dean. "How do you feel about it?"

Dean shrugged. "Kinda scared. I want him out so we can get back to something as close to normal as we can have. I've felt a little safer here though. If something went wrong, there'd be all the doctors and equipment he could need."

"It's unlikely he will need that though," Alfie said. "He is stable and we're prepared for the complications of seizures. I think Sam will do better away from here. He'll be more settled."

Dean hoped that Sam would take to living with Alfie as easily as he had the man himself. It would be an adjustment for them both, being in a real home, but Sam was more likely to struggle with it given his confusion and the way his last home had ended. Elsie was an unknown, but Dean didn't believe she could be anything less than wonderful with the way Alfie talked about her and the care she had given him and Sam without even meeting them.

They made their way up to the third floor and Dean ran over the seizure advice in his mind again. He'd been drilled on it a few times, but he was still worried, even though he knew he wasn't going to be alone in it.

Ethan was waiting outside Sam's room, and he smiled as he saw them approaching. "You might want to brace yourselves," he said.

"Why? What's wrong?" Dean asked.

"Nothing is wrong," he said easily. "Sam is just very impatient to be out of here. Anyone would think he didn't like us."

Dean shook his head, smiling, as he pushed open the door and went inside.

Sam was sitting on the side of the bed, his duffel beside him and a scowl on his face. "You were gone too long," he said disapprovingly.

"Sorry, Sam. We were taking advantage of the cafeteria for the last time," Alfie said. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Sam said. "I want to go now."

"We've just got to see the doctor one last time," Dean said. "You sure you've got everything packed?"

"Yes," Sam said firmly. "I'm ready."

"I'll go find the doctor then."

He walked out onto the hall and started towards the nurses' station where Doctor Maddox was just making some notes on a clipboard.

She looked up and smiled as he approached. "I was just going to come to find you. I understand Sam is ready to go."

"More than ready," Dean said with feeling.

"Okay then. I have already spoken to him, but I need to go over his discharge instructions with you, too. As you know, Sam's stitches have been removed and he's showing good signs of healing. There's a pamphlet here for aftercare instructions, and you already have one for dealing with seizures."

"Yeah. I've been studying it with Alfie. Is there anything else I need to know?"

"Not at the moment. I will arrange a follow up appointment for Sam in a few weeks. I hope we don't need to see you before then, but if something happens that worries you and Alfie, call or bring him back into the ER. I think you'll be fine though. Sam has made a good physical recovery from his abdominal surgery, and we are dealing with his other injuries. Now, I have you registered at Alfie's address. If that changes, if you leave for any reason, you need to contact us and let us know where to reach you."

"I will," Dean said. "Anything else?"

"Just some forms to sign to say you're comfortable taking Sam into your care," she said, gesturing to the clipboard. "I've marked the places."

Dean quickly scrawled the invented signature for Dean Smith on the pages and handed it to her.

She checked them and nodded. "Thank you, Dean. Can I just say what a pleasure it has been to meet you and Sam. I'm sorry that it was under these circumstances, but the way you have risen to the challenges you and Sam are going to face is worthy of pride. You are a good man and brother."

Dean felt his cheeks warming. "Thanks, Doc, for everything. We both appreciate it." He shook her hand and then went back to Sam's room.

Sam was on his feet now, his duffel in his hand. "Can we go?" he asked Dean hopefully.

"Yeah. We're ready."

Dean held out his hand for Sam's duffel and he pulled it back with a scowl. "I can manage."

"If you're still refusing a wheelchair to the exit, I'm carrying the bag," Dean said. "You're still getting back on your feet, and this is a longer walk than you've done yet."

Sam handed the bag over with a glare and walked to the door where Alfie stood. Alfie gestured him out ahead and then followed after him. Dean thanked Ethan for his help then caught up with them at the elevators.

As they rode down to the first floor, Sam tapped his fingers on his legs. He seemed stressed, but when Dean asked if he was okay, he said he was fine with obvious irritation.

Sam was slowing by the time they got to the exit, and Dean thought he was getting tired, but he hesitated before offering to bring the car around, not wanting to annoy him again.

"I'll meet you at the lot exit," Alfie said. "You can follow me back from there."

"Thanks," Dean said as Alfie walked away.

Sam negated the question of whether he wanted Dean to bring the car by wandering off in the wrong direction.

"This way, Sam," Dean said hurrying after him and tugging his arm.

Sam allowed him to lead him to the spot the plastic Impala was parked, and Dean unlocked the doors with the key fob.

Sam frowned. "This isn't our car."

"It is for now."

"Why?" Sam asked, and then he paled. "Did I crash the Impala again?"

"No," Dean said quickly. "And _you_ didn't crash it last time either. Being run off the road by a semi wasn't your fault."

"Did I hurt someone again?" he asked.

Dean frowned. He had no idea Sam believed he had hurt anyone last time either. Sure, they'd all been banged up in the crash, but that was a demon's fault, not Sam's. How could so many years have passed without them talking about this?

"You didn't hurt anyone last time or this," Dean said. "None of it was your fault. It was only you that was hurt, though I'm guessing you scared the crap out of the truckdriver."

"Sorry," Sam said.

"It's not your fault," Dean said again. "You crashed a crappy burner that no one cares about. The Impala is fine, but we're not using her right now. Come on, we're keeping Alfie waiting."

Sam opened the passenger door and climbed in, and Dean threw the duffel onto the back seat with his own before climbing in behind the wheel. Sam settled in his seat and then looked expectantly at Dean.

"Put your seatbelt on," Dean said.

Sam frowned. "We never wear seatbelts."

"That was before you hit a semi," Dean said. "Please put it on. It'll make me feel better."

Scowling, Sam obeyed and then waited as Dean started the engine. It was his first time driving it, and as soon as the engine caught, an alarm started sounding.

"What the hell?" It couldn't be busted. Garth had bought it from an actual dealership. He checked the dash and saw a blinking red light with an image of a seatbelt on it. "You're kidding!"

"What's wrong?" Sam asked.

"The car's being a little bitch," Dean said, pulling at his seatbelt. "It's going to bug the shit out of me unless I wear this damn thing."

Sam laughed. "I like this car."

Dean smiled. "I bet you do."

The alarm ended when Dean clipped the seatbelt in place, but Sam still laughed. Dean cast him a fond smile as he pulled out of their spot and drove to the exit where Alfie had pulled over and was waiting for them. He drove out and Dean fell into place behind him.

Sam peered out of the window as they drove along the streets, looking thoughtful. "Where are we?" he asked.

Dean realized he hadn't checked out how much Sam remembered of their present. He was wary of testing it now, as he didn't know how much Sam was aware of the Leviathans. He didn't remember Bobby dying after all.

"We're in Portland, Oregon. We were here on a case."

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "Did we fix it?"

Deciding the truth wasn't the way to go, Dean nodded. "Yeah. It's done. Look, Sammy, we should have talked about this before, but we can't talk about hunting in front of Alfie and Elsie. They don't know about that part of the world. Elsie, Alfie's wife, has read Chuck's books, but they're just stories to them."

"They'd be scared?"

"Exactly, and we don't want that. They've been so good to us, so we need to take care of them, too. If you have to talk about it, wait until it's just you and me, okay?"

Sam nodded. "I can do that."

"I know," Dean said, leaning across the console and patting his arm. "You're doing awesome."

Sam frowned at him and Dean realized he might have just made a slip in treating Sam the right way. He wouldn't have phrased it like that before Sam's accident, so he'd probably come off as patronizing, or worse: treating Sam like a child. He would have to be more aware. He wanted Sam to feel like himself, not a child.

"We both are," he said with a nervous laugh. "And we're going to be living the full-on 'Leave it to Beaver' life for a while, too. I think that's pretty special."

"It won't be the same," Sam said, sounding sad.

"Is that a problem?" Dean asked. "If you can't handle this, we can explain it to Alfie and go get a motel somewhere. We have enough cash to last us a while."

"No. You need this," Sam said. "I can do it."

Dean did need this, not just for Sam but for himself, too. He wasn't ready for them to be alone yet. That wasn't what Sam meant though; he was surely thinking of Dean's misleading words about not being on his feet either. Dean chose not to correct him. It wasn't treating him like a child; it was protecting him.

Alfie put his blinker on and turned into a side street, and Dean followed him. The roads were lined with houses, and Dean wondered which one would be Alfie's. They were all similar looking, clapboard walls and neatly trimmed grass. They continued around a corner to a less populated area, and Alfie drove right to the end of the street where there was a large house set alone in a vast front yard. He pulled up on the double driveway and Dean pulled up beside him.

The house was light blue clapboard with white trim that a man on a ladder was painting. There was a porch that wrapped around the front and there were small potted bushes on either side of the door. The path that led to the steps onto the porch were flagstones in varying shades of grey and lined with white stones. It was much bigger than Dean had expected, and he wondered how comfortable they would be in a place so fancy.

Sam looked out of the window with a look of shocked surprise.

"What do you think?" Dean asked him.

"I think it's nice," he said. "It looks like a home."

"It is," Dean said. "It's Alfie's, and he's going to share it with us."

Sam nodded. "He's good. I like him."

"Me too," Dean said with a smile.

Alfie climbed out of his car and looked back at them.

"Come on, Sammy, let's check it out." He realized as he said it that it was the sort of thing he'd say when scouting a house for a case. It was a similar situation, though there was no danger. They were checking it out as a home not hunt.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out. Sam hesitated a moment before doing the same. They walked to Alfie and he gestured expansively at the house. "What do you think?" he asked.

"It's great," Dean said. "Really nice. Right, Sam?"

"It's a home," Sam stated.

"It is," Alfie agreed. "And it will be yours as long as you want it. We should get inside. I am sure Elsie is getting impatient in there waiting for us. He set off along the path to the house and then stopped as the door flew open and a woman rushed out.

Dean had a clear mental image of Elsie before he met here, but she was nothing like he'd expected. She was slim and tall, whereas he'd imagined her to be small and round. She walked spritely down the steps, almost dancing to them, whereas Dean had imagined she would be a little more careful on her feet. Her red hair was copiously threaded with grey, and it was pinned back in a knot at the back of her neck. Dean expected tea dresses and pearls in place of the loose cotton pants and blouse she wore. The only expectation of her he'd had right was that she wore a beaming smile on her lined face when she saw them.

"Dean! Sam!" she said happily. "It's so good to finally meet you. Alfie has been keeping you to himself so long I thought he would never share."

"Now, Elsie, you know that's not true," Alfie said. "I just thought they would need a little peace while Sam was still unwell."

" _You_ were with them," she said pointedly. "And you're hardly a restful person. Tell me, Dean, how many patients did he muscle in on while he was at the hospital?"

"None that I saw," Dean said with a laugh, though he remembered Alfie's propensity to sneak peeks at Sam's chart.

"Hmm, I'm not sure I believe you," she said.

"He's been very good to us," Dean said loyally.

She beamed at her husband. "I'm sure he was. Lord knows my Alfie has his faults, but he's a born caretaker."

"He's good," Sam supplied.

"He is," she agreed, turning her wide smile on Sam. "It's so good to meet you, Sam. I have heard so much about you. It's wonderful to be able to put a face to the name at long last, and what a handsome face it is."

Sam ducked his head with a smile.

"Are we going to keep them out here all day or do you plan on letting them see inside the house, too?" Alfie asked her.

"Forgive me," she said. "Come on in and see our home."

She looped her arm through Sam's, and Dean froze; he had no idea how Sam would react. Even before his injury, Sam would have been uncertain at this easy touch from someone who was practically a stranger. He watched carefully, but Sam caught him off guard when he let her lead him to the house with a wide smile.

"That was unexpected," Alfie said quietly.

"She's special," Dean said. "Sam feels it, too."

"She is," he agreed, following his wife and Sam up the stairs and into the house.

When he got inside, Dean saw one of his expectations of Alfie's life had been met. The furniture in the hall was dark wood and old fashioned. The telephone was an old rotary-dial model and there was a notepad beside it with a floral border on a lace doily. There was also a basket that Dean guessed was the one Alfie had mentioned for their grandchildren to stow their phones in when they visited. The walls were decorated with watercolors of beach scenes and flowers. Dean examined one.

"They're Elsie's work," Alfie said, seeing where he was looking. "She'll paint anything if it stays still long enough. We've got her a studio in the garden, but she leaves sketchbooks all around the house like a dog sheds hair."

Dean chuckled. "She's really good."

"She is," Alfie agreed proudly. "Come through."

Dean followed Alfie into a kitchen with a long scrubbed-pine table and white cabinets. The room was filled with the scent of baked apple and cinnamon. Much to Dean's delight, he saw a pie cooling on a plate beside the window.

Elsie was chattering to Sam and encouraging him to sit at the table while she fetched them coffee. Sam took a seat and looked expectantly at Dean. "Elsie made you pie," he said.

Elsie smiled at Dean. "I know you and Alfie ate at the hospital—some of those greasy fries I'm sure—but I thought you'd like a welcoming snack to arrive to. Have a seat and I'll bring you some over."

"Thank you," Dean said, sitting beside Sam.

"It wasn't greasy fries," Alfie said, going to a cabinet and pulling out coffee cups.

"Really?" she asked, hands on her hips.

"Really. They weren't remotely greasy. Very crisp in fact."

She waved a hand at him. "I hope you enjoyed them, Alfie. You won't have a chance or excuse to eat them again for a while now Sam's here, taking away your access to cafeteria food."

"I'm aware," Alfie said, looking a little disconsolate. He rallied quickly and set the cups on a tray as Elsie decanted the coffee from the stove into a silver pot. She added a bowl of sugar cubes and a jug of cream then nodded to Alfie and he carried it to the table. He set it down on the end of the table and asked, "Dean, you take it black, don't you? Sam, how about you?"

"Cream please," Sam said.

Alfie poured two cups and Elsie added cream to Sam's then passed them along. Dean held the cup in his hand and felt the pleasant warmth seeping through the china, enjoying the smell of good coffee.

"Here you are, Elsie," Alfie said, putting two sugar cubes into the mug and handing it to her. "Sweet as you are."

Elsie laughed. "Charm me all you like, I'm still not letting you go back to the hospital to sate your needs for refined carbohydrates. We have meatloaf for dinner." She winked at Dean and he grinned.

"Sounds lovely," Alfie said.

They went to the counter and Alfie retrieved plates while she cut the pie. "I know you're a yes, Dean, but what about you, Sam? Do you have a sweet tooth, too?"

"I'd like some pie," Sam answered. He didn't usually indulge in sweet food apart from at breakfast sometimes, but Dean guessed being polite was one of the things that was still firmly entrenched in Sam.

Elsie beamed and placed a slice on a plate for him. Alfie carried it to the table and Dean watched the way they moved together. It was like a dance that only the two of them knew the steps to.

When they were all seated with their coffees and pie, Elsie brushed a hand down her front and said, "Excuse the clothes. I was helping Simon out there with the trim."

Alfie raised an eyebrow. "You were helping him?"

"Yes," she said obstinately. "I opened the tins for him and washed his brushes. I would have done more, but he wouldn't let me up the ladder."

"I should think not. You wouldn't let me up there to paint, so what makes you think you'd do any better?"

"Because, dearest, I am much steadier on my feet. Besides, Dean and Sam needed you more than I needed the trim to be painted."

Alfie grumbled but Dean saw his eyes were smiling. They had the kind of relationship to which this teasing was natural. The decades they'd spent together removed any possible insult from their words. They knew each other completely in a way Dean had never shared with a woman. He only knew Sam this well.

He looked at his brother and saw he was eating his pie with a concentrated look. "You enjoying that, Sammy?" he asked.

"Yes," Sam said. "I like it."

"That's good," Elsie said, obviously pleased. "I have so many recipes I want to try out on you both. Alfie has stopped appreciating my experimentation."

"Not at all," Alfie said. "I always enjoy what you make."

"Hmm…" She looked unconvinced. "I think Sam and Dean will be more willing participants."

"I'm sure they will," Alfie said, casting her an affectionate smile. "They're far better men than I."

Dean wasn't sure about that. They saved lives, but so had Alfie. Dean didn't think he and Sam could have opened their home—if they'd had one—or lives to other people the way Elsie and Alfie had.

Sam was definitely a better man. He had made his mistakes, but he was still a man that would open his heart to people, despite knowing it often ended in hurt.

He glanced at Sam, appraising him, but his smile fell as he saw Sam's blank face and the fork held loosely in his lax hands.

He was gone again.

* * *

 **So… What do you think of Elsie? I was waiting to write her for so long that this chapter was a fast favorite. I love her relationship with Alfie, and I think Dean and Sam need someone like her in their lives. I know some of you were waiting impatiently to meet her, too. Does she live up to expectations?**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	12. Chapter 11

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this mess for me and Gredelina1 for all your help and supportive words. Love you ladies xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Eleven**_

Sam was sitting beside Elsie on the couch, listening as she told him about her current art project and examining the sketchbook she was showing him. Dean thought it was more than the polite interest that Sam would show a witness that he was giving her. He seemed engaged again.

His absence in the kitchen had been brief, and he hadn't seemed too upset when he came back. He had just shaken his head and carried on eating as if there had been no interruption. He'd remained present through the rest of the afternoon and dinner and remained settled with Alfie downstairs while Elsie showed Dean the room he and Sam would be using while staying with them. Dean had been surprised by it. It had the floral drapes and matching bedding on the queen beds he'd been expecting, but it was light and airy, with large windows that looked onto the back garden. It was definitely quainter than Dean was usually comfortable with, but it was undeniably a home, and that was what Sam needed.

"I shall take care of the dishes," Alfie said, getting out of his armchair.

"Thank you, dear," Elsie said, casting him a distracted smile as she showed Sam a sketch she had been working on before they arrived.

"I'll help," Dean said, standing. He remembered what Doctor Maddox had said about letting Sam do things like this, but he looked tired after the efforts of the day and Dean figured he could start with that stuff tomorrow. He was still working on something, bonding with Elsie, and Dean thought that was just as important for him as being physically active.

He and Alfie walked into the kitchen. Alfie went to the sink and began filling the sink with water, dumping in some dish soap.

"I'll wash if you load," Alfie said, opening what Dean had thought was a cupboard and revealing a dishwasher.

Dean smiled, remembering the way Lisa had insisted on cleaning the dishes before putting them into the machine Dean thought was designed to do the job for them instead. "No problem."

Alfie rolled up his sleeves and began. Dean loaded the plates into the racks, listening to the hum of Elsie's voice in the living room as she spoke to Sam. It was occasionally interrupted by Sam's brief questions. Dean remembered the way Sam had spoken before the accident, run on sentences that had seemed to go on forever when he was excited about something. He spoke in clipped sentences now. Dean wondered if that was just a habit he'd fallen into or if it was easier for his injured mind to create these shorter sentences.

Alfie drew a deep breath and Dean paused to look at him. He seemed to be gathering himself for something.

"What's up?" Dean asked.

"Can I ask you something?"

Dean wondered what kind of question could presage this introduction. "Sure. Go ahead."

"What did you and Sam do for a living before the accident?" he asked.

Dean felt a jolt in his stomach. They'd never discussed much about Dean and Sam's life before the accident. Alfie knew they lived on the road, but that was it. He had his stock answer ready, but he didn't feel right giving it to someone that had been so open and honest with him. He had no other choice though.

"We're freelance reporters," he said. "We investigate stories and write them under a shared byline and sell them to newspapers. It's a good living as long as you don't mind life on the road."

"Ah," Alfie said thoughtfully. "You're not FBI then?"

Dean laughed nervously. He was a little close to the truth. "Definitely not."

"Not US Marshals either? Or CDC? Or insurance investigators?"

Dean paled. He'd been rumbled and he knew it. He wondered if Sam had let it slip while Dean had been upstairs with Elsie. He wouldn't have been able to help it. Asking Sam to remember that they weren't to talk about hunting wasn't something he could rely on, even though Sam had seemed to know the stakes.

He turned away and adjusted the plates in the rack to give himself a little breathing space. "Why are you asking this, Alfie?"

"Because I am close to believing something that seems impossible."

Dean straightened and leaned against the counter. "What are you thinking?"

Alfie dried his hands on a dishcloth and said, "I read those books of Elsie's. They are awful by the way, but I couldn't seem to stop. I've been buried in them most times I'm not with you. I saw some real similarities between the men in the stories and you and Sam."

"Like?"

"You said Sam was at Stanford and he was going to be a lawyer. I saw that in the first book; before Dean came for him, that's where he was with Jessica. Sam's mentioned someone named Jess, too, and Bobby, and there was a Bobby in some of the books. You said you raised Sam, and you know wound care. I read about Sam and Dean stitching each other and themselves up times than I would have liked." He looked Dean in the eye. "I think you're the real Sam and Dean that Carver Edlund wrote about. Am I right?"

Dean couldn't lie to him. It was too late to do anything to reassure Alfie; all he could offer now was honesty.

"Did you tell Elsie?" he asked.

Alfie's eyebrows rose. "I'm right?"

Dean nodded.

"Boy, oh boy. I thought so, but hearing it's the truth is something different altogether. In answer to your question, I didn't tell Elsie; she told me. When I came home each day, I would tell her what I'd learned about you. I wasn't gossiping; I just wanted her to know you as well as I did. But she connected the dots early and made me read the first book that day. The clues kept coming so I kept reading. It was more than just the little similarities, though. It was who Dean was in those stories. I couldn't get a good enough gauge on Sam at first, because he was sleeping, but Dean in the book was so clear to me, so similar. The way you care about Sam, it was in the pages of those books. I didn't want to believe it at first. I like you Dean, and I didn't want to think about those things happening to you, but I had to in the end."

"Yeah, I get that," Dean said with a sigh. "Me and Sam are what we call hunters. We're really called Sam and Dean Winchester."

"Winchester," he said thoughtfully. "That's a good name. It suits you both. And you truly hunt those things?"

"Yeah, we take care of all the creatures you've read about. There's been a lot more than the ones that made it into the books. We've spent years doing it. All my adult life and half my childhood was spent hunting."

"All those things are real," Alfie said, looking sober. "Those demons and monsters?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. I know this is a lot to wrap your mind around, but it's very unlikely you'll ever come into contact with them in your life. There's way more people out there than there are monsters. We didn't want you to know, me and Sam, as we didn't want you to be scared. Even the way he is now, Sam knew we couldn't let you find out."

"I guess we owe you our thanks," Alfie said. "I don't just mean for wanting to protect us. I mean for all you've done for the world. You've saved a lot of lives."

"You've no idea," Dean said, thinking of Sam throwing himself into a pit in the ground to save the world.

"There's so much more that we don't know, isn't there?"

"Yeah."

"Will you tell us about it?"

"Later," Dean said. "I don't want Sam upset, and I'm not sure how much he remembers. He might get scared if I trigger something. He's been through a lot."

"The trauma," Alfie said.

"Exactly."

"I have one question, if I can ask?"

"Go ahead," Dean said, knowing there was nothing else he could deny Alfie or Elsie now.

"How on earth did you end up with a series of mediocre books written about you?"

Dean laughed. "That's a really long story."

"We have time."

Dean tried to wrangle his thoughts so he could even being to explain Chuck's other life as a prophet, but at that moment, Elsie called out in a panicked voice, "Alfie! Dean!"

Dean raced into the living room in time to see Sam slipping from the couch onto the floor. Dean rushed forward to ease his descent, but he was too slow. Sam caught his cheek on the corner of a table going down and cut it.

He hit the floor hard and began to convulse, his elbows drawing in at his sides and his legs jerking as his head strained back and his teeth gritted. His head was close to a small end table so Dean pushed it back quickly and then kneeled beside Sam, knowing there was no way he'd be able to get him on his side safely while he was bucking like that. He wanted to reach for Sam, to reassure him with touch, but he knew he would likely end up hurting Sam or himself, so he laid his hands flat on his knees and waited for it to pass.

The sound Sam's heels made as they drummed against the floor seemed to echo in Dean's head and he tried to block it out by listening to Alfie gently reassuring Elsie and running over everything he'd learned to make sure he was doing the right things. The message had seemed to be to let them ride it out, and that was what Dean was doing. He thought that he must be doing okay as Alfie wasn't advising him or helping.

He timed the seizure with his watch, wanting to be aware if it passed the five minutes threshold, but after only two minutes Sam began to calm and settle. The spasms stopped and he groaned.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean said gently as Sam's eyes opened. "It's over now."

Sam looked around, his eyes settling on Dean and a frown creased his brow. "Dean?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Do you feel ready to sit up?"

Sam nodded and pushed himself up. He leaned against the side of the couch and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. "What happened?"

"It was a seizure," Dean said. "But it wasn't a bad one. It didn't last long. How do you feel?"

"My head hurts." He touched the cut on his cheek and examined the smudge of blood on his finger. "Bleeding."

"I'll get the first aid kit," Elsie said, scurrying from the room.

"Can I check it, Sam?" Alfie asked.

Sam nodded and Alfie bent and turned Sam's face to the side to see the small cut. "It's fine," he said. "You won't need stitches. We'll just clean it up."

Dean had already surmised as much, but he was relieved Alfie was able to reassure Sam. This was the first seizure he was apparently aware of, and it had clearly upset him.

Elsie came back with a small green first aid kit. She handed it to Alfie and he offered it to Dean. "Would you like to do the honors?"

"That okay with you, Sam?" Dean asked. "You want me or a real doctor?"

"You," Sam answered quickly.

Dean opened the kit and took out a small pack of gauze and a disinfectant spray. He opened the gauze and uncapped the spray. "This might sting a little," he warned. "Close your eyes."

Sam obeyed and Dean sprayed the small wound then dabbed away the excess with the gauze. Sam didn't even flinch. Ordinarily, Dean wouldn't have expected him to as he had the pain threshold earned in Hell, but he'd seemed a little more vulnerable and open since the accident. Dean was pleased in a way that this pain didn't bother him.

"There," he said, balling up the used gauze and capping the spray again and stowing it in the first aid kit. "All done."

"Thank you," Sam said quietly.

"What do you want to do now?" Dean asked. "You feel ready to get up? You can stay here a little longer, or if you're tired, I can show you where we're sleeping."

"I want to do what we were doing," Sam said.

"What were you doing, Sam?" Alfie asked. "Do you remember?"

Sam opened his mouth to answer and then hesitated. "No. I don't remember." He looked upset.

"That's okay," Alfie said. "Confusion is normal after a seizure."

"How about you get some sleep?" Dean said. "Doctor Platt is coming tomorrow, so you'll want to be ready."

"Who's he?"

"The doctor that asks the questions, remember? You met him a few times in the hospital."

"I know," Sam said, but Dean wasn't convinced he did. He sounded a little vague still. "I want to sleep."

Dean stood and held out a hand to Sam. Sam took it and allowed himself to be pulled up. Dean tossed the gauze into the wastepaper basket and led Sam out of the room to the hall.

There was a flight of polished wooden stairs with a carpet runner leading to the second floor, and Dean went up them slowly so Sam wouldn't have to rush. He figured his brother might be feeling a little shaky still. Sam stopped at the top of the stairs and looked at the row of doors. Dean had only been into the guest room and the attached bathroom, but there were many more doors as yet unopened. He went to the room he and Sam would share and opened the door. Sam's eyes roved the room as he entered, taking in the floral décor and the wide window and the dusky sky outside.

"We've got our own bathroom," Dean said, opening the door and showing Sam the neat and clean room.

Sam nodded. "It's a home." He had said that more than once now, and Dean thought it had real meaning to him, just as he had hoped it would.

Dean gestured to his duffel and said, "You want to get changed?"

Sam took out his wash kit and some clothes and walked into the bathroom. He closed the door but didn't lock it, for which Dean was relieved. If something was to happen to him, Dean would get in to him fast, but he didn't want to damage Alfie and Elsie's home.

He sat on the bed and waited for Sam to finish.

He didn't have to wait long. Sam opened the door and came out with his dirty clothes in his hands. He stowed them in the duffel at the end of the second bed and pulled back the bedclothes. He punched the pillow into a more comfortable shape and lay down.

Dean closed the drapes and asked. "You want me to stay here, too?"

"No. I'm tired. Don't want to talk."

"Okay. You want a light left on?" Dean asked.

"I'm not a kid, Dean."

"I know. I just figured you might be used to it after the hospital," Dean lied. It was another slip. He would have never asked Sam that before. He just wanted him to feel safe and comfortable. He should have let Sam ask himself if that was what he wanted.

"I'm fine," Sam said.

Dean walked to the door and tried to frame his words so they would not be patronizing. He wanted Sam to know to call if he needed and that he would be close. "I'm going down to talk to Alfie and Elsie a little longer," he said.

"Okay," Sam said closing his eyes.

Dean clicked the overhead light off and began to close the door behind him. He heard a quiet gasp and then the click as a light beside the bed was turned on. He closed the door and paused in the hall to take a breath. Sam did need the light. Did that mean he was scared? He couldn't ask, but he thought he might be.

Dean shook his head and went down to the living room again. Alfie was sitting in his armchair with a cup of coffee in his hands, and Elsie was on the couch, her sketchbook open beside her.

"Would you like a coffee?" she asked Dean.

"I'll get it," Dean said.

He poured himself a cup from the tray on the table and sat down on the second couch. The TV was playing a news channel on mute, and Dean read the headlines displayed on the tape at the bottom on the screen for a moment before looking up as Alfie spoke. "You did very well with Sam's seizure."

"Yeah? Feels like I was just watching it happen."

"Exactly. You did what you were supposed to do. I know it's tempting to hold him and offer comfort, but it's ultimately more likely to hurt him. You did the right thing. And you were calm and careful when it finished. If Sam can see you reacting as if it isn't serious, he is more likely to believe that himself."

"He's still a little shaky," Dean said. "He left the light on to sleep."

"He might be a little disoriented still. That will pass. It's also his first night in a new place. Patients with brain injuries are more likely to struggle with things like that. He will fall into a routine soon and that will settle him."

"It's feels so strange," Dean said. "He spent almost all of his life staying in motels, so there was never any stability, but that never bothered him before."

"It's different now," Alfie reminded him.

"I know," Dean sighed. "I just wish it wasn't."

Elsie had watched their exchange with a sympathetic look, but after a moment she seemed unable to contain herself any longer. "Can I ask you something, Dean?"

"Sure."

She looked embarrassed but her eyes were alight with excitement as she leaned forward and asked, "How did you get out of Hell?"

Dean huffed a laugh. Though he guessed he should have expected the question to come from one of them, he was still surprised by it. "Wow. That's a helluva question," he said.

"It was Sam, wasn't it? I knew he'd find a way save you. I just knew it. How did he do it?"

"It wasn't Sammy," he said. "He tried, he did everything he could to get me back. He tried to deal but no demon would help him. He tried to open the Devil's Gate, even. Nothing worked. It ruined him."

"Poor Sam," she whispered.

"It was angels in the end," he said. "They stormed the place and pulled me out."

"Angels are real?" Alfie asked. He didn't sound shocked, more interested on an academic level.

"Yeah, but most of them are dicks. There was only one that was ultimately any good really, and he let us down in the end, too. His name was Castiel. He became our friend, but he made some bad choices and one of them got him killed. He was another one lost because of our life."

"And you lost Bobby, too," she said sympathetically.

"Yeah. Feels like we lost everyone. Bobby died this year, but before that it was Ellen and Jo, Rufus. We even lost Adam and Gabriel."

"Gabriel? The archangel?" Alfie said, as Elsie asked, "Who's Adam?"

"Adam was our half-brother. Dad met his mother about six years after Mom died and they had a son. We didn't know anything about him until he was already dead. He was just a college kid when a couple ghouls took him out. We met him again later, when the angels brought him back to be Michael's vessel."

They both looked at him blankly and Dean smiled slightly. "Do you really want to know about this? It's kinda heavy."

"I want to know," Elsie said.

"Okay, a few years back, there were all kinds of disasters, do you remember? The hurricanes and earthquakes, and that town in Missouri where everyone died overnight?"

Elsie pointed a finger at Alfie. "I told you, didn't I? I said it was like something out of the books. Was it that Lilith? She was trouble."

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, she was trouble, but it wasn't her. She was dead by then; Sam killed her. It was the actual apocalypse. A lot of stuff happened, but Sam and I were in the middle of it because we were supposed to be the vessels for Lucifer and Michael."

"The Devil?" Alfie asked with that same tone of academic interest.

"Yeah. Lilith managed to set him free, and there was supposed to be a battle between him and Michael. Angels don't have bodies on earth. They have to possess people, a little like demons. They have to gain consent, and it has to be someone from a certain bloodline, but they take the bodies and that's how they get around down here. You see an angel in its true form, it'll burn your eyes out. That happened to a friend of ours. Anyway, Sam and I were the bloodline for Michael and Lucifer — what they called their true vessels. Sam was Lucifer's and I was Michael's."

"How did you end it?" Alfie asked. "Those things, the tragedies, all stopped suddenly."

"It was Sam. He said yes to Lucifer, took him in and then overpowered him. Lucifer had been in a cage in Hell, and Sam took him back there along with Michael."

"Goodness," Elsie said, her hand on her heart. "That's incredible."

Dean grimaced. "Yeah, it was. But Sam was trapped there, too."

"In Hell?"

"Yes. With two angry archangels," Dean said. "Castiel got his body out again pretty quick, but he screwed up; Sam's soul was left behind. He spent almost two centuries locked in there, being tortured by them."

"Centuries?" Alfie asked, obviously confused.

"Hell time works differently to up here," Dean explained. "I was there four months before Castiel got me out, but it was about forty years for me. Sam was gone eighteen months."

"Dear Lord," Alfie breathed. "How did you come out intact?"

"I'm not sure I did," Dean admitted. "I'm definitely not the same man that the hounds came for. And Sam was gone so much longer. That's the trauma that he's still living with—Lucifer and Michael. They broke him. When he zones out, he's seeing Lucifer."

"That poor boy," Elsie said sadly.

"Exactly. Sammy saved the world, but it almost ruined him. Even before the accident, he was suffering. I thought I was losing him already."

"You haven't though," Alfie said. "I can't even begin to imagine what you and Sam have been through, but you've not changed so much that you've lost your ability to fight. You've both doing incredibly well."

"And you're not alone anymore," Elsie said. "I know you have lost so much, but we're here now. We will help you in any way we can. You don't ever have to leave if you don't want to. Alfie and I will help you as long as you need us to, and we'll make sure there are people to help when we're gone."

"Don't write us off yet, Elsie," Alfie said disapprovingly. "We've got at least another twenty years in us. As long as we hold on to our marbles, we'll be fine. And I don't believe Sam and Dean will need us that long. Like Elsie said, you can stay here as long as you want, and we will always welcome you back, but I have seen enough in those books to know that you won't need that long. Even if Sam doesn't improve, and I believe he will, you know how to take care of him, don't you?"

"Think I'm getting to, yeah," Dean said.

"Exactly. You have been through literal hell, I know that now, and that has increased my respect for you hundredfold, but I think you've still got more to face. Am I right?"

Dean thought of the Leviathans and the team fighting them right now. "Yeah. There's more."

"Then we will help you until you're ready to face it," Alfie said with a nod. "Now, I have one more question, and then we'll leave you in peace at least a little longer. I can't guarantee how long with Elsie's curiosity being what it is though."

"Go ahead and ask," Dean said.

"How _did_ you end up with these books written about your life?"

Dean smiled. "Carver Edlund is actually called Chuck, and he's a prophet…"

As he explained Chuck, the prophet with a propensity for drinking binges, he relaxed a little. There were fewer secrets between them now, and they had made promises that made him a lot more confident in Sam's future.

He was starting to believe it would work out.

* * *

 **So… They know the truth. Like a lot of ideas I have that develop into something more, the mention of the books in the first chapter was just supposed to be a fun detail. I didn't realize what part Alfie and Elsie would have in the story, so I didn't think it would come into play again. I love that they know the real Sam and Dean now. They deserve some thanks from time to time.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	13. Chapter 12

**Thanks so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing, and Gredelina1 for all your help and support. Thank you all for reading and reviewing. You have all blown me away with the response to the story xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twelve**_

Dean was shaking Sam's meds onto a small plate to take to him while Sam sat at the table, nursing his coffee and staring out of the window. Elsie had gone to her studio early and Alfie was reading the newspaper in the living room, as was his custom in the morning.

Dean capped the bottles, carried the plate over to the table and set it down in front of Sam then went to fetch him a glass of water. He gave it to Sam and said, "Down the hatch."

Sam scowled. "I don't want them."

"I know, man, but you need them. They'll help the seizures."

"There's too many."

Dean hesitated. It wasn't just the seizure meds on the plate. There were the anti-depressants and anti-psychotics, too. "They're all important."

"What do they do?" Sam asked.

Dean wished he hadn't framed the question like that as he would have to lie to him now. "They'll help you," he said evasively

"They won't make me sleep?"

"I don't think so. They haven't before, have they?"

"I don't know." Sam sighed heavily as he picked them up one by one and tossed them back followed by the water.

Dean wondered why he was asking about sleeping. He hadn't noticed any trouble before. Sam had always been sleeping peacefully when he woke in the night to check on him. He decided not to push and ask yet, as Sam wasn't having a good morning. He had been more abrupt than usual at breakfast, not even engaging with Elsie who could usually draw him out. He'd also had another absence. He would ask later when Sam was happier.

"They don't work," Sam said as Dean picked up the plate and empty glass and carried them to the sink to wash.

"What doesn't work?" Dean asked.

"The pills. It still happens."

"I know," Dean said sadly. Sam had had two more seizures since they had moved in. It seemed that they were worse than they had been in the hospital even. He had been warned the medication might take time to work, but if things didn't settle, he would talk to Alfie about their options. Maybe there was a different medication they could try out sooner rather than later. It exhausted and unsettled Sam when the seizures came. "Give them some more time. If not, we'll do something about it."

"I want Alfie," Sam said as he pushed away from the table and stomped out of the room.

"He's in the living room," Dean called after him, knowing Alfie wouldn't mind the interruption. He seemed to have endless patience. Dean wondered if it was a part of being a doctor or if it was just Alfie's good nature.

He tipped the remains of Sam's coffee down the sink, washed out the cup, plate and glass, then loaded them in the dishwasher with the rest of their breakfast things and set it to working.

He wiped the table down and then looked around for anything else that needed to be done. He wanted to help as much as he could to make their stay as little of an inconvenience to Alfie and Elsie as he could. There was nothing, so he stopped and leaned against the counter a moment, sighing.

Alfie came in, his newspaper tucked under his arm. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Dean frowned at him. "Didn't Sam come in to see you?"

"No. Why?"

Dean shrugged. "He said he wanted you."

"He must have changed his mind. He took a book into the sun room."

"Yeah, he must have."

"How are you, Dean?" Alfie asked solicitously.

"I'm okay," Dean said. "Sam didn't want to take his meds again this morning, but he didn't put up too much of a fight. If he's reading now, it means he's calmer."

"That's good, but it is also Sam. I am asking about you."

"I am how Sam is though," Dean said. "He's the priority now."

"His health is, yes," Alfie agreed. "But he's not the only one I am here to care for. I told you before, Dean, you're my patient and I'm your doctor. I am of course interested in how Sam is, but right now I would like to hear about you."

Dean wanted to evade the question with an easy reply as he usually would, but he couldn't; Alfie would never let him. "I'm tired," he said. "Sam's sleeping fine, but I keep waking up and needing to check on him. It's like he'll slip away if I'm not careful."

Alfie nodded thoughtfully and set the newspaper down on the table. "That's perfectly normal. Sam has his trauma from Hell, but you have your own trauma, too. Yours is currently fixed on the accident. You saw something terrible in the wreck, and since then you have dealt with tremendous stresses. Caregiver fatigue is a common side-effect of these kind of situations. You have to let Elsie and I help more. We can give Sam his meds just as easily as you. Sam might take them from me better even, as he accepts me as a doctor. We can't watch him at night, of course, but the day's tasks can be shared between the three of us. We can monitor him easily if you need a break."

"Monitor…" Dean said quietly. "That's what it is, isn't it? He can drop and seize any moment, and we have to watch him."

"We do," Alfie said. "But there may be something we can do about that which means we will not have to physically watch Sam at every moment. It could give him some independence even."

"What?" Dean asked.

"I've been researching Sam's conditions since his diagnoses and I read about something called a wrist worn sensor. It looks like a watch, but it monitors for signs of seizure in heartrate, movement and skin changes. It will send an alert to your phone if it detects something. It would mean you'd be woken in the night if a seizure comes and you're sleeping still. It will also mean Sam can be alone longer periods. Do you think that would help?"

"Yeah," Dean said thoughtfully. "If Sam feels like he has more independence, that'd be great."

"And it will give you peace of mind," Alfie pointed out. "You will be able to go out of the house and know that if something happens, you won't need to rely on us to inform you while we could be with Sam."

"Where do I get one?"

"I can arrange for one to be delivered," Alfie said.

"Is it expensive?" Dean asked. "I've got cash."

It wasn't his own, it was Garth's, but he would use it for this if it would help Sam as he knew Garth wouldn't mind. Garth probably wouldn't mind if they blew it all on a weeklong bender in Vegas either. He was a good man; Dean saw that now.

"I will find out and let you know," Alfie said.

"Thanks, Alfie," Dean said. "I appreciate it."

"I know, and in return I would like you to do something for me."

"Anything," Dean said quickly.

Alfie looked pleased by the ready agreement. "I would like you to take a break. I will keep an eye on Sam while you go out for a while. It doesn't matter where you go as long as you're out and away from the house. There are some lovely parks nearby if you feel like walking. There's also a wide selection of stores at the mall if there's anything you need to buy for yourself or Sam."

"A mall?" Dean asked with a raised eyebrow. "I thought you'd read the books, Alfie. Sam and I don't do malls. And we're not much into parks either."

"No, I suppose you're not," Alfie said thoughtfully. "In that case go for a drive. I know you do that often enough. I am your physician and this is my advice: take some space."

Dean grinned. "Okay. I can do that. I'll just let Sam know what I'm doing. He'll worry if I just disappear."

"Of course," Alfie said.

Dean smiled as he walked through the living room into the sun room. He was a little nervous about leaving Sam, but he wanted to present it in a positive light to make him calmer. He didn't think it would be that much of a problem, as Sam had developed a good relationship with both Elsie and Alfie, but he was having a difficult day, so he had to approach it the right way.

Sam wasn't in the sun room though. There was a book open on the table, but that was the only sign of him.

Worry crept into Dean, and he went back into the living room to check if he'd missed him. Alfie was in his armchair again, watching the news on the TV.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Sam's gone," Dean said tersely.

Unperturbed, Alfie said, "Have you checked the studio? He could have gone to see Elsie."

That made sense and Dean mentally kicked himself for not thinking of it himself. He went back out to the yard and started along the path to the studio. He spotted Sam before he got to the door though. He was standing on the other side of the wide yard beneath a tree, looking up at the branches with a look of concentration.

"Sammy," Dean said, his relief making a home in his voice as he hurried to him. "I was looking for you."

Sam looked at him and frowned. "I'm here."

"I see that now," Dean said with a laugh. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I was just looking."

Dean stopped beside him and looked up at the tree, searching for what had held Sam's interest. He could see nothing but branches and green leaves. "What were you looking at?"

Sam reached for a branch and pulled it down for Dean to examine. "The buds. They're going to blossom."

"Oh, right," Dean said, not sure what the significance of blossom was but pleased Sam was engaged with something outside of one of them.

"They'll be flowers then pies."

Dean frowned. "Pies?"

Sam smiled slightly. "It's a cherry tree. It'll be pretty." He drew a breath and then said, "Jessica loved blossoms. There was a Japanese garden in Palo Alto that had lots of cherry trees. When they blossomed, we would go every day to study there. She would look at them. The flowers only last a couple weeks. We had to make the most of it. Jessica liked watching them fall. It was like snow. She would lay underneath and look. I sometimes shook the tree for her so they would fall down. She laughed. It made her so happy."

It was more than Dean had heard him say since he woke up; he held his breath so as not to break the spell. Sam had barely spoken about Jessica before, and he had never shared memories of her like this. Dean was entranced.

"She wanted a garden. We only had the apartment though. She had window boxes and pots inside. I told her I would give her a garden one day. We would have a cherry tree just for her. I wanted to make her happy."

Dean's eyes stung at the innocence of the statement. He could imagine Sam as he had been then, plotting his life with the woman he loved; a garden with trees she could lie under and laugh.

"I miss her, Dean," he said.

"Yeah, man, I know," Dean said a little hoarsely.

"She's not here anymore. Do you think she's okay?"

"I'm sure she is."

Jessica would be in Heaven now. Maybe she had her own Sam there. Maybe they sat beneath the flowering cherry trees all the time. Dean hoped they did. That sounded like the perfect place for her to spend eternity.

"I miss her," he said again.

Heart aching for his brother but fearing hurting him if he asked about her again, Dean diverted with a memory of his own. "Mom loved flowers, too. She and Dad split the backyard in two. There was grass for me and a swing set, but there was another part where I couldn't play. She had all flowerbeds there. I used to have a hard time not touching them. I wanted to pick them for her once, but she told me she liked to see them growing better." He smiled as her remembered her patient explanation. "She was always on at Dad to get rid of that out old tree out front."

"He didn't," Sam said. "I saw it when we…" He looked confused. "I saw it, didn't I?"

"You did," Dean said carefully, knowing he was walking a fine line now and cursing his slip. He still didn't know how much Sam remembered. He obviously knew about hunting as he'd asked about it, but he would ask about Jessica, and that had come after her death. He decided to break the topic. "I've got to go out a while. Will you be okay here with Alfie and Elsie?"

Sam shook his head quickly as if coming out of a daze. "Where is Elsie?"

"She's in her studio. You want to go see her?"

Sam nodded and walked away.

"I won't be gone long," Dean called after him.

Sam just raised a hand in acknowledgment. The spell that had opened his mind and words was broken again. Dean wondered if it would ever happen again. He hoped so.

* * *

Dean realized early after driving away from the house that he didn't know where to go. It wasn't the same as driving Baby, when he'd have been content to just drive around, hearing her purr to him. Driving in the piece of plastic was not rewarding or relaxing. He couldn't go back to Sam yet though, as Alfie would scold or, worse, worry. Dean had to rely on him and Elsie to take care of Sam.

It felt strange to be away from him, but also better. He was creating normal for Sam by leaving him a while, and everyone had advised him that treating Sam as 'normal' as possible was better for him.

He drove aimlessly along the streets at first and then stumbled upon the idea of going to the store. He could find something to take home. He didn't know what exactly, as Elsie kept the place well stocked, but he felt that he had to bring something back with him. He turned left and headed to the grocery store he'd passed on the way to Alfie's. He was still mulling over options when he spotted a liquor store that gave him a better idea. He could get something for Alfie, some brandy.

He pulled to a stop in a parking spot a little down from the store and climbed out. He had to step to the side to let a harried woman with a stroller pass him and then he went into the store.

A bell tinkled above the door, and a man looked up from the book he was reading at his spot seated behind the counter. He was wearing a red bowtie and velvet jacket, and his cheeks were ruddy. "Hello," he said cheerfully. "Would you like assistance or are you just browsing?"

Dean had never needed help in a liquor store before, so he said, "I'm good, thanks," politely and headed to the back of the small store where there was a selection of bottled liquor on offer.

He looked at the rows of bottles and a familiar thirst came to him. He hadn't had a real drink since Alfie's hipflask, but before that he'd been drinking heavily. He hadn't given it much thought before, but he wanted it now. He couldn't help but think how a bottle of whiskey would take the edge off of what had happened recently. He couldn't indulge the want though. Alfie and Elsie deserved better than to have him drinking in their home the way he had before, and he thought if he started, it would be hard to stop. Sam deserved better, too. Dean needed to keep his mind clear to take care of him.

He moved past the whiskey and looked at the brandies on sale. It occurred to him quickly that he had no idea what he was looking for in a bottle. He was a whiskey man, sometimes tequila, too, but he rarely drank brandy. They all looked good enough, fancy bottles with classy labels, but he wanted to get Alfie something special.

He walked back to the counter and said, "Actually, I need a little help after all. I'm looking for a good brandy, and I don't know what's what."

"Of course." The man walked around the small counter and went to the shelves of liquor. He picked up a bottle of golden brown brandy and held it out to Dean. "This is one of my best sellers. Martell VSOP. Aged four years and quite woody."

"It's a good one?" Dean asked.

"It's good but it's not the best," he said honestly. "How top shelf do you want to go?"

"It's for a friend," Dean explained. "He's been really good to me and my brother, and I want to get something special for him. I know he drinks brandy, but I have no idea if there's a brand he likes better."

The man considered. "I might have something." He reached up and took down a deep red box with gold trim. He walked back to the counter and Dean followed, watching as he opened the box and took out a uniquely shaped bottle. It was round with a short neck and silver cap. He set it down on the counter and said, "This is Remy Martin XO Excellence. I always keep a few bottles in stock for my doctor friend. He saved my life, and I like to do what I can to thank him by stocking his favorite brandy."

Dean smiled as he thought he'd connected the dots. "It wasn't Alfie, was it?"

"Alfred, yes," he said happily. "He was my doctor many years ago. You know him?"

"Yeah. He's been taking care of my brother and me. He's a good man."

"He is," he said, nodding energetically and making his bow tie bob. "He operated on my aneurism when no one else would. They told me I would be dead within weeks, faster if I opted for the surgery, but he said he'd to it, and I lived." He spread his arms expansively. "He's a hero to me."

Dean smiled. "Yeah, me too. So, this is the one he likes?"

"It's his favorite," he said. He tucked it back in its box and placed it in a white bag with the store name on the side in tasteful italics. He held it out to Dean and said, "Here. It's a gift."

"Thank you, but I'd rather pay," Dean said. "I want to get something to say thank you from me and my brother."

"Ah, of course," he said, nodding again.

He rang up the sale on the old-fashioned register. Dean opened his wallet and sorted through the cash Garth had given him then handed over the bills. He took the bottle and thanked the man then carried it to the door.

"Send my regards," he called after Dean.

"Sure… uh…"

"Malcom," he said. "Tell him Malcom is still grateful."

"I will." Dean waved a hand on farewell and then left.

As he walked along the sidewalk back to where he'd parked the Impala, Dean smiled to himself. He'd done what he set out to do; he'd got something for Alfie and he'd been away from the house a while. He did feel better for it, too. He'd done something that wasn't directly related to taking care of Sam, and it had been fine. Alfie would be pleased.

He climbed into the car and set the bottle down on the other seat then started the engine. Feeling more confident now, he decided to take the opportunity to call in and check on the Leviathan situation.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Annie's number. It rang through to voicemail though, so he ended the call without leaving a message and dialed Garth as he buckled in and pulled into the flowing traffic.

Garth answered after only a couple rings with a cheerful greeting. _"Dean! How are ya?"_

"Hey, Garth. Yeah, I'm doing okay."

" _And Sam?"_

"He's out of the hospital now," Dean said.

" _That's awesome. Does that mean you guys are on your way to lend us your expertise now?"_

"Not quite yet. Sam's got some more recovery to do first. We'll be there as soon as we can though."

" _No rush,"_ Garth said easily. _"There's a lot of us on the case now. Walt and Roy have joined up. They were out your way recently in fact. There were a couple chompers running a real estate office that needed to be taken out. They're dealt with now. Heads and bodies buried separately. That borax stuff works pretty damn good on them, right."_

"Yeah," Dean agreed.

" _I told Walt and Roy to give you some space while they were there. They were pretty easygoing about it. Am I right in thinking there's some history there?"_

"You could say that," Dean said. "They killed me and Sam once."

" _Killed you? Huh. How did that work?"_

"It's a long story," Dean said. "How are things going with you guys?"

" _They're good. Frank thinks he's getting somewhere with some of the Roman activities, seeing a pattern there. You want to talk to him? I'm at the boat right now. Hang on."_

"No, Garth! Wait!" he said quickly, but it was too late. There was the sound of the phone changing hands and then Frank's voice came on the line sounding even pissier than usual.

" _Dean Winchester. I wondered when you'd be in touch. Are you calling to offer condolences on the end of my life as I knew it?"_

"No, I'm calling to check in on the whole saving-the-world situation," Dean said.

" _Well that's perfect. You don't offer me anything. Did you hear how close I was to becoming a Big Mouth buffet?"_

"I heard."

" _Then where are you and Sam? Portland, right? Not here, helping us save the world. It's because of you that I got dragged into this thing. You wanted those damn numbers investigated, and I did it. That should have been it for me, I did my bit, but now I'm living in hiding on this squalid boat with only this psychotic infant for company."_

The word psychotic made Dean's ire rise. "Screw that, Frank! You're in this till the end whether you like it or not. You're a part of it now, it's your fight, too. Not because of me and Sam, but because you're human and the world is yours as much as it's ours. Don't pretend you're fighting for anyone but yourself in this. And Garth is doing you a favor letting you stay, so treat him with a little respect."

" _Thanks for the advice, Fudgepop, I'll give it some thought."_

Dean heard Garth shout, _"Frank, no!"_ before there was a crash and the line crackled. Dean heard echoing footsteps and then Garth said in a scratchy voice, "You still there, Dean?"

"I'm here."

" _Oh, good. I'm going to have to call you back. Frank has smashed my phone. Can you hang up for me? I don't have a screen as much as shards of glass now."_ For someone that just had his phone busted, Garth sounded remarkably composed about what was going on.

"Got it," Dean said. "Thanks, Garth, and I'm sorry for poking the dragon."

" _It's not a problem. See ya."_

Dean ended the call and tucked his phone back in his pocket. He tried to calm himself but he was aggravated. Frank had pissed him off more with his comment about Garth than with his offloading about his part in the job. That he guessed he should have expected, but Frank being a dick about Garth, using psychosis as an insult, made Dean want to punch him.

His phone buzzed again, but he didn't bother to answer it as he was on Alfie's street now, and if it was Garth he'd catch him later.

He pulled onto the drive and reached across for the paper bag before climbing out and walking up the path to the door. It opened before he got there, and Elsie was revealed. Dean's heart sank at the look on her face. "Sam?" he asked.

She nodded. "He's had another seizure."

Dean rushed past her into the living room. Sam was sitting on the armchair. His eyes were distant, and Alfie was standing beside him with his hand on Sam's shoulder, saying his name softly.

"Sammy? Dean said, dropping the bottle down on the couch and squatting in front of him. "You okay?" He wasn't sure if Sam was gone or just in shock from what had happened to him. He touched Sam's hand and said, "I'm here man."

"We did call," Alfie said. "Elsie did. Your line was busy though."

Dean cursed quietly. He should have waited until he was back to make the call. He should have been with Sam.

"What happened?" he asked.

"He was with me while I was painting," Elsie said. "We were just talking when it started. He knocked his head."

Dean turned worried eyes on Alfie. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine. It was just a bump. I examined him and found nothing worrying."

"We have to stop this," Dean said. "It's getting worse. The meds aren't working."

"Yes," Alfie agreed. "I will speak to Katherine. We will find a solution for this."

Sam drew a deep breath and blinked quickly. "Dean?"

"I'm here," Dean said, squeezing his hand. "How are you feeling?"

Sam shook his head dolefully. "It happened again."

"I know," Dean said.

Sam looked into his eyes and Dean saw they were haunted. "I don't like this, Dean."

"I'm sorry," Dean said, his heart aching.

"Can't we make it stop?"

"We're going to talk to the doctor and maybe try some new meds."

"Can't Cas do something?" he asked.

Dean closed his eyes. He guessed he should have expected a question about Castiel at some point, as he was the obvious answer to Sam's problem.

"He's not here right now," Dean said.

"Where did he go?"

"I'm not sure." It wasn't a lie exactly. None of them knew where angels went when they died.

Sam's face fell into lines of sadness. "I'm scared," he said.

So was Dean, but he couldn't admit that to Sam. He had to be strong to reassure him. "I'll take care of you," he said. "You can do this. You've dealt with worse before."

Sam frowned. "I have?"

"Yeah, Sammy, you have. You're strong, a hero. You can get through this, too, with me."

He hoped for a sign of agreement in Sam, some show of confidence in Dean's support maybe. He didn't get it.

"I'm scared," Sam said again.

Dean pushed Sam's sweaty hair out of his face and said, "I'm going to take care of you."

Though he would fight for Sam with his last breath, he still knew it might not be a promise he could keep.

* * *

 **So… Poor Sam. He's really going through it. As is Dean. I loved having my chance to write Frank. He's so much fun. I'm hoping I did his character justice.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	14. Chapter 13

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for all you did for this chapter. You're a star. Thank you also Gredelina1 for all your help. I'm sorry for the late update last week. I thought I'd prepped the chapter to post from Sweden, but I'd forgotten. I'm home now so we can get back to our usual update schedule.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Thirteen**_

Dean heard a lot of clattering coming from the kitchen when he and Sam came downstairs on Sunday morning. He glanced at Sam and raised an eyebrow, but Sam just walked past him into the kitchen without a word. He'd done a lot of that over the past couple days. He wasn't engaging with them. It seemed like he was lost in thought a lot of the time. It wasn't the same as when he would vague out and see Lucifer, but it was similar. He just didn't seem to notice them until they'd called his name a couple times. It was upsetting to see, and frustrating for Dean, as he wanted to do more for him.

Sighing, Dean followed him into the kitchen and smiled at what he saw. Alfie was at the stove, waving a dishcloth over a smoking skillet that was filling the air with an unpleasant smell. There was a pot of lumpy batter on the counter beside him and a tray of pancake toppings.

"Having fun there, Alfie?" he asked.

Alfie shook his head. "I don't know what I'm doing wrong. I copied everything Elsie does."

"The oil is too hot," Dean explained. "Can I help?"

Alfie looked surprised. "You can cook?"

"A little."

"That never made it into the books."

"It wouldn't have," Dean said. "It's a fairly recent thing. Do you want me to do it?"

Alfie sighed, defeated. "Yes, please."

"Where's Elsie?" Sam asked, wandering to the window and looking out.

"She likes a regular dose of God, so she's gone to church," Alfie said. "She's not one for the fire and brimstone, so she's mixing with the Methodists. She tried to talk me out of making breakfast, but I wanted you boys to have something good to wake up to. She was right, as usual; I shouldn't have bothered."

"We appreciate you trying," Dean said. "Why don't you have a rest while me and Sam fix something up. Sam, can you come help me?"

With a pleased nod, Alfie sat at the table and opened his newspaper. Sam wandered over to Dean and asked, "What are we doing?"

"Making pancakes," Dean said. He took the smoking pan from the heat and lowered the burner. He opened the window to dispel the smell and began to search through the cupboard for what he needed. He had learned to make pancakes when he was with Lisa, but he hadn't made them in a long time. He found the pots and pans, and he took out a fresh skillet, then searched for the dry goods.

"Can you get me an egg, some butter and milk, Sam?"

Sam went slowly to the fridge and opened it. He stopped for a moment with the door open, just staring in, and Dean resisted the urge to remind him of what he was doing there. He wouldn't usually, and he wanted to treat Sam as normally as possible.

He sifted in the dry ingredients and waited for Sam, not watching him. After a moment, Sam came back with the milk and eggs, but he'd forgotten the butter.

"Thanks, Sam. Can you get me some butter, too?" Dean asked, trying to introduce it as a new request.

Sam went back to the fridge while Dean added the eggs and milk. He stirred it a few times and then, when Sam came back, he held the bowl out and said, "Mix this for me."

Sam took the bowl and began to beat the mixture. Pleased, Dean dropped a knob of butter into the skillet and watched as it melted.

He was paying attention to what he was doing, so he didn't notice something was wrong with Sam until Alfie called his name. Sam was gone. He quickly took the bowl from Sam's loosening fingers and set it down on the counter.

"Keep going," Alfie advised. "Make it feel like nothing is different for him."

Dean nodded and finished beating the batter, casting Sam occasional sidelong glances. The batter was smooth and ready before Sam was back, and he ladled it into the pan. It sizzled and Dean smiled slightly at the sound and memories it brought back of that time in his life. It had been very difficult to be without Sam, but he had found pleasure in providing simple things for Lisa and Ben.

Sam sucked in a breath as he snapped back to the present, and Dean sighed with relief and flipped the pancakes. "Get me some plates, Sammy?" he asked.

Sam nodded and took a platter and some smaller plates from the cupboard. He put the platter down at Dean's elbow and then carried the plates to the table. Dean was pleased and relieved that he was acting without instruction now. It wasn't huge, knowing what to do, but each small step made a difference to them.

He slid the pancakes from the skillet onto the platter and then added more batter. When he had enough for them all and some for Elsie should she want them when she returned, he turned off the stove and carried them over to the table and went back for the toppings. He sat himself down and said, "Load up then, Sam. See how good a chef your brother is."

Sam smiled slightly. "You can cook?"

"I can now," Dean said, pleased by the smile.

"And you're actually rather good," Alfie said appreciatively, taking another bite of his pancakes.

"What do you think, Sam?"

Sam took a bite and smiled. "I like it."

Dean grinned. "See, your brother has skills."

Sam nodded.

Dean dumped maple syrup over his own stack and began to eat. They were good, and he was pleased and a little proud that he hadn't let them down with his first foray into cooking in a while.

They ate in appreciative silence for a while, the only sound the scraping of forks, and then there was a clatter as Sam dropped his fork. Dean looked up and saw he was gone again.

"Dammit," he muttered, hating that Lucifer was back already. It had been good for just a little while.

"He's okay," Alfie said. "Keep eating."

Dean knew what he meant, keep it normal for Sam, so he ate the pancakes that now tasted like ashes in his mouth.

When Sam came back, he blinked slowly and then pushed his plate away and stood.

"What are you doing, Sam?" he asked.

"Going away," Sam said curtly.

Dean made to stand but Alfie said his name softly and he sank down again as Sam walked out.

"He just needs a little space," Alfie said. "This is hard for him, too."

Dean pushed away his own plate and ran a hand over his face. "What if he tries to leave?" he asked.

"We'll hear the door. I don't think we will though. Sam has shown no signs of wanting to leave thus far, has he?"

"No," Dean admitted. "He needs his meds though."

"Let's give him some time and then I will take them to him. I'll make sure he takes them."

Dean nodded.

Alfie continued to eat while Dean stared at the door Sam had left through, wishing he could be with his brother while still making him feel capable.

Sam's voice drifted back to them and Dean heard enough to quickly know he was talking to Bobby again.

He bowed his head and sighed.

* * *

It was Monday and Dean had just taken Sam his meds in the sun room where he was reading. He was carrying the plate and glass back into the kitchen when he heard Elsie speaking on the telephone in the hall. He didn't listen but carried on into the kitchen and added the plate and glass to the small pile from breakfast beside the sink. He started the water running and squeezed in some dish soap.

"You don't need to do that," Alfie said, getting up from the table bringing his empty plate for the stack.

"I know, but Sam's pretty distant this morning, so I thought it was a good idea to cut him a break," Dean said.

"Yes, and I agree, but I meant that I could do it. We didn't invite you here so you could do all the chores, Dean. We have noticed how much you are doing. I know some of it is to encourage Sam, but we want you to feel that this is your home, too, so you can relax here. You don't need to be on alert for tasks at all times."

"I don't want to make it harder for you by having to clean up after us," Dean said. "You're doing so much. Elsie is cooking almost everything we eat, and she's doing our laundry. We can do that stuff."

He had asked her to show him how the washer worked so that he could do their own laundry and save her a job, but she'd shrugged him off with the explanation that it was contrary and there was a knack to using it.

"She doesn't mind," Alfie said. "And it's not hard having you here at all. In fact, she's enjoying it as much as I am. It's like the old days, having our family here again, with you and Sam. If we felt pressure from it, we would tell you, but right now we're just happy to have young company."

"It's tough though," Dean said. "Sam being the way he is, his seizures, it has to be hard on you."

"In a way," Alfie said. "For me, at least, it's familiar. I know what I am dealing with. I think we can agree that it's much harder on you. We don't mind the days Sam is more withdrawn as we understand it now that we know the truth of what he went through. Dean, you saved the world together. What we are doing for you is the smallest thanks for that."

"Sam saved the world," Dean corrected.

"And yet I doubt it was him alone," Alfie said. "I know your world. Neither of you are anything without the other."

Dean shook his head. He didn't understand. It was Sam that had taken the dive and Sam that had suffered all that time. What Dean had been through at the mercy of Lucifer's fists felt like nothing.

"It was Sam," he said again, returning his attention to the dishes.

Alfie took them from the drainer and loaded them into the dishwasher, a thoughtful frown on his brow. Dean could tell he hadn't convinced him of the truth, but he didn't bother to try again. Alfie wouldn't believe him anyway. He only had the books to guide him when it came to their history, and Chuck wasn't the greatest writer.

He had just closed the door of the loaded dishwasher and set it to working when Elsie came into the room. She looked troubled and distracted.

"What's wrong, Elsie?" Alfie asked.

"That was Alison on the phone," she said. "Her sitter has let her down and she's been called in early. Calvin won't be home until five, and she'll not finish until late."

"Ah," Alfie said. "What did you tell her?"

"What could I say but yes? She's on her way here now. I was thinking I could take Izzy to that Plucky's place she likes."

Alfie nodded. "Yes, that will work."

"What's going on?" Dean asked.

"Alison, our daughter, has to work," Elsie explained. "She wants us to take care of Izzy for the day. It's okay though. There is a place in town I can take her. She'll be happy to spend the day in the ball pit and on the arcade games."

"Those places are hell," Dean said. "Why not bring her here? Oh." The reason dawned on him. "You're worried about Sam? That's okay. We can hang out upstairs while she's here. Or we can go out somewhere. He hasn't left the house since we got here. He might like it."

Though would he? Sam was kinda vulnerable at the moment. Maybe dragging him out of familiar surroundings would upset him. They could stay upstairs though. Their room was plenty big enough and he could take some books up for Sam. They'd be fine.

"I'll make sure he doesn't upset her," he said.

"No!" Elsie said, clearly affronted. "We're not driving you out, and we're not worried about Izzy. It's Sam we were concerned for.

Alfie cleared his throat. "We agreed when you came to stay here that we would make it as easy on you both as we could, and that means reducing the stresses for Sam."

Dean considered. It was true he had no idea how Sam would react to a change in the form of a child's arrival, but he couldn't allow Alfie and Elsie to put themselves out more for them. He wouldn't let Elsie spend a day in the migraine inducing Plucky's just to save Sam from some stress.

"Have her here," he said. "If Sam struggles, we'll go somewhere else. It's your home, so it's right that your granddaughter should be here."

"We don't want to drive you out, Dean," Elsie said.

"Exactly. Neither do we. Sam wouldn't want this either. If you don't mind her being here with us, then she should come, and we'll see how Sam handles it." He hesitated as he realized the complication to the visit. "What if Sam seizes though? That'll freak her out. No. We'll stay upstairs. I don't want to traumatize the kid."

Alfie smiled and shook his head. "You won't traumatize her, and you won't hide upstairs either. Children are more accepting of things like this than adults. If Sam seizes, Izzy will deal with it, I am sure. We won't leave her watching for Sam's sake, but she'll be fine with it."

"You sure?" Dean asked.

"We're positive," Elsie said, reaching out and squeezing his hand. "We'd love for you and Sam to meet her."

"And you might be surprised," Alfie said. "Sam has been withdrawn recently, but Izzy is a magnetic character. I think she might be good for him."

"You think?" Dean asked hopefully.

"I do," Alfie said. "It might help him a little even."

"I'll go explain to Sam's what's happening," he said.

He went into the sun room where Sam was sitting on the comfortable couch. He had a book in his hands, but he wasn't reading it. He was looking vague. Dean wasn't sure if he was gone or just thinking, and he was pleased when Sam looked up as he sat down beside him and said his name.

"Someone's coming," Dean said.

"Here?"

"Yeah. Alfie and Elsie's daughter is bringing their granddaughter over for the day." He hesitated before going on, not sure if he should ask but thinking Sam deserved the choice. "Are you going to be okay with this? If you don't want company, me and you can go out or hang upstairs a while."

Sam frowned. "She's a little girl?"

"Yeah. Her name's Izzy."

"Will I scare her?" he asked. "What if it happens again?"

Dean shook his head. "No, Sammy. Alfie and I talked about that. He thinks she'll handle it better than we do. Kids are different."

"Okay. I want to stay."

"Awesome," Dean said, genuinely pleased.

"When's she coming?" Sam asked.

"I don't know. Soon. They were on their way." At that moment Dean heard the chime of the old-fashioned doorbell and Elsie's quick footsteps on the tile floor of the kitchen; then they disappeared as Dean assumed she passed into carpeted hall. "Or now."

Sam nodded and raised his book again.

There were muffled voices in the hall and then Dean heard them coming into the living room. "I made you a picture, Grams!" an excited child's voice said.

"That's lovely, Izzy," Elsie said. "Come in here and meet our friends."

"Oh, yes, your houseguests," a woman said with obvious doubt in her tone.

Dean stood as Elsie led a woman into the room, followed by a little girl.

"Dean, this is our daughter, Alison," Elsie said. "Alison, this is Dean and Sam."

Alison looked a lot like her mother. Her hair was deep red and her eyes were the same warm brown. She didn't look warmly at him though. She was definitely appraising him as she held out a hand.

Dean shook it and said, "It's good to meet you."

"You too," she said coolly. "I have been hoping for a chance to speak to you for a while. My parents have been protective of you."

Dean nodded. "They're good people."

"Yes, they are," she said pointedly.

Elsie had remained oblivious to her daughter's veiled hostility as she was examining the picture Izzy was showing her. Dean cast a glance back at Sam to see if he'd noticed Alison's reaction, but he was staring at the book in his hands with a concentrated look.

Dean looked at Izzy as she danced around her grandmother. She had red hair, too, but hers was a lighter shade, almost blonde. It was tied in a braid that hung down the back of her pink t-shirt. She had shockingly blue eyes and they were bright with excitement.

"Say hello to Sam and Dean, Izzy," Elsie said.

Izzy beamed at Dean, showing gaps in her teeth. "Hello, Sam."

Dean smiled. "I'm Dean. This is Sam."

She looked past him and said. "Hi, Sam."

Dean waited to see how, or even if, Sam would react. He looked up slowly from his book and looked uncertain for a moment before smiling slightly. "Hi, Izzy."

Izzy grinned at him. "What's your book about?"

Sam closed it and checked the spine. "I'm not sure. I haven't read much yet."

Dean was willing to bet he hadn't really read any of it. He suspected it was just Sam's way of distancing himself from what was happening around him.

Alfie came into the room then, drawing Izzy's eyes from Sam. "Where's my best girl?" he asked.

Izzy flew at him. "Grandpa!" She threw her arms around him and he bent to hold her. She clung to him for a moment and then said. "I met Sam and Dean."

"That's good," Alfie said. "They're Grandpa's friends."

She released him and bounced back to Elsie to retrieve the picture she'd drawn from Elsie to show Alfie.

"I should go," Alison said. "Come say goodbye, Izzy."

Izzy rushed back to her mother and kissed her cheek as she bent to her. "Bye, Momma."

"It was nice to meet you, Dean," she said. "I'll see you again." It sounded like a threat.

Alfie followed her out to the door, and Dean checked on Sam again. He was watching her exit with a furrowed brow, and Dean guessed he'd been aware of the tension of their exchange. His gaze drifted to Izzy as she bounced back to him and thumped down on the couch beside Sam. In her hand was the picture she'd been showing Alfie. She held it up to Sam and said. "Do you like it? It's me and Bailey."

Dean looked at the shapes on the paper and tried to make them out. One was obviously Izzy as she had given herself orange hair and a pink top, but the other wasn't clear. It looked like a brown ball with a red line coming from it.

"It's good," Sam said. "I like it."

Izzy beamed at him. "I like to walk with Bailey and Daddy. I can't hold him yet because I'm too little, but Momma says I will one day."

"Bailey is Izzy's spaniel," Alfie explained, sitting down on the other couch with Elsie. "He's still a puppy, isn't he, Izzy?"

"Yep. He hasn't even had one birthday yet. I want to give him a party but Momma says dogs don't get parties. I don't think it's fair, because I had one for my birthday and it was fun. We went to the zoo with all my friends, and I saw the lizards."

Dean raised an eyebrow as he took a seat in an armchair. He wouldn't have thought lizards featured big on little girls' lists of favorite animals.

"You like lizards?" he asked.

Izzy nodded solemnly. "Daddy says dinosaurs are lizards and I like dinosaurs. There aren't any left. A star fell down and killed them all."

A small smile crept over Sam's face and he asked, "What's your favorite dinosaur?"

Dean's mouth dropped open at the question. Other than direct enquiries about their environment and mentions of Jess, Bobby and Castiel, Sam hadn't really asked anything, especially not such a question, of any of them.

"The T-Rex," Izzy said excitedly.

"Why that one?" Sam asked.

"It's the scariest," Izzy said. "Dinosaurs can be scary, and I think the T-Rex would be the only one that didn't get scared as he has such big teeth. I'd want to be a T-Rex. What do you want to be?"

Sam considered for a moment as they all watched him expectantly. Dean felt the anticipation in the air. Elsie looked as pleased as he felt by Sam's reaction to her, but Alfie didn't seem that surprised. He'd said Izzy might be good for him. Was this what he'd meant? Did he know Izzy would cast this magic over the room and Sam?

"I'd want to be a pterodactyl," Sam said eventually.

"They're not so scary," Izzy said dubiously.

"But they can fly," Sam said. "That'd be better than being scary."

Dean felt his eyes burning. Sam was engaged in a way he hadn't been before. He was fully focused on the conversation, sharing thoughts, not just needs and expressing emotions. He seemed happy even.

Izzy nodded. "I think flying would be fun, too." She brightened. "I'm going to fly."

"Now?" Sam asked, a smile curling his lips.

"No." She giggled. "In an airplane. We're going to Disney World. Me and Momma and Daddy. We have to fly to get there. Momma said there will be a window and I can watch the earth go under us. And when we get here, there will be all the princesses. Do you like princesses?"

"Some," Sam said. "Which one do you like?"

"Ariel's the best," she said knowledgably. "She can swim. I'm learning to swim at the pool. I have lessons with Miss Katie. I don't need armbands anymore, but I like the noodle as it holds me up. Sometimes you go under without it, and water gets up your nose and in your ears. I don't like that."

"Do you think that happens to Ariel, too?" Sam asked.

"Maybe," she said thoughtfully. "Not when she's a mermaid. When she's a mermaid she can sing in the water. When she has legs she might not sing anymore because of the water, but I bet she doesn't mind."

"I liked Flounder," Sam said.

She nodded eagerly. "He's great. I think Ariel must miss him and Sebastian when she doesn't live with them in the water anymore, but she can go swimming and see them."

"She could have put them in the bathtub," Sam said. "Then she could have talked to them all the time."

Izzy laughed. The sound was so young and innocent, and when Sam joined her laughter, Dean did, too. It felt good. There was no hysteria, just enjoyment of this magical moment. Sam was reacting, talking and sharing, and it was incredible.

Elsie picked up one of her ever-handy sketchbooks and a pencil from the table. Her hand flew over the page as she drew something Dean couldn't see. Alfie caught Dean's eye and winked.

"Who's your princess?" Izzy asked.

Sam grinned. "I don't really have a princess, but I do like Cinderella. I like Simba the best, and he's a king."

"Simba's okay," she conceded. "He's brave."

"He is," Sam agreed. "He went home, even though he was scared, because he wanted to help. He had a happy ending."

"All Disney has a happy ending," Izzy said.

"Not always," Sam said. "The baddies never get a happy ending."

Izzy clawed her hands at Sam and made her voice a growl. "Like Scar!"

"Exactly. Scar has the end he deserves."

Izzy turned to Dean, "Do you like Disney, too?"

"I've never seen any," he admitted.

"How can you not see Disney?" she asked, sounding scandalized. "Doesn't Sam share?"

Sam turned to him and his eyes were bright with amusement and what looked almost like surprise. It was as if he had lost himself so completely in talking with Izzy that he had forgotten there were others there. "I don't see much Disney anymore," he explained. "I used to watch it a long time ago."

"Why don't you watch it now?" she asked.

"Because I used to watch them with Jess and she's…"

Dean froze, seeing the spark in Sam's eye die and be replaced with a look of confusion.

"She's what?" Izzy asked.

"I don't know," Sam said. "I think she…" His gaze became distant and his face lost all expression. He was gone again.

"Sam?" Izzy said, looking confused when Sam didn't react.

Elsie got to her feet and said, "Come along, Izzy, Let's make some drinks and snacks. I bet Grandpa is thirsty."

"I am," Alfie said, nodding eagerly. "Will you make me one of your special juice cocktails, Izzy?"

"Sure," she said, though she still sounded a little confused. She followed Elsie out of the room and Dean turned his gaze back to Sam. He was staring blankly across the room, though Dean saw something glistening on his cheek. When he looked closer he saw it was a tear, trailing down his cheek.

"He's crying," he said miserably.

"I know," Alfie said. "Look at this though."

He held up the sketchpad Elsie had been drawing on. Dean saw an unfinished sketch of Sam. She had captured the moment he had laughed with Izzy. It hurt Dean's heart to see it, the evidence of that moment while he brother sat motionless and crying close to him.

"He's crying now, but he laughed before," Alfie said. "Look at it, Dean. He was happy. He _can_ be happy. This is just another episode. He'll be back and laughing again."

Dean nodded, though he didn't feel that comforted. Sam might have laughed before, and maybe there would be another magic moment that would bring him back again, but right now he was crying, and Dean couldn't help him.

* * *

 **So… What did you think of Izzy? I wanted someone for Sam to connect with and she seemed the perfect choice. Children can sometimes cast a spell with their innocence, and I like the idea that Sam could have this moment.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	15. Chapter 14

**Endless thanks to Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me and catching the spots I miss. Thank you Gredelina1 for living with this story for weeks and supporting me. Thank you all for reading and reviewing. I appreciate the heck out of you all xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Fourteen**_

Dean saw Sam and Doctor Platt into the study for their session and then he went into the kitchen where Alfie and Elsie were. Elsie was rooting through cupboards and Alfie was sitting at the table with a pen in his hand and notepad open. Dean quickly surmised that they were making a shopping list.

"Flour," Elsie said without turning. "And confectioners' sugar."

Alfie made a note on the pad and looked up again. "What else?"

"I'm looking," Elsie said, pulling her head out of the cupboard and spotting Dean. "Oh! You snuck up on me. Did Sam go in okay?"

"Yeah, no problem. I don't know if he'll say much, he's been quiet all morning, but the doc might get him talking."

"We'll hope," Elsie said. "I'm going to the store later. Is there anything special you'd like?"

"No, I don't think so," Dean said, sitting beside Alfie. "I can shop for you if you like. Just tell me everything you need and I'll get it. Or I can come with you."

Alfie chuckled. "You may regret that offer. Elsie in the grocery store is a force to be reckoned with. She likes nothing more than to spend an hour or two examining fruit and comparing nutritional values."

"I like to have the best," Elsie said. "And I don't hear you complaining when you're eating what I make, Alfie."

"I never would," Alfie said. "I love your cooking, and I value my marriage too much to try to change you now."

"Good," she said, giving Dean a quick wink before going to the fridge and opening the door. "We need milk and butter, too."

Alfie made a note and looked up attentively. "Anything else, dearest?"

"Just put fruit," she said. "I will see what they have in that we can't get from the garden. I definitely want blueberries though. I was thinking Sam and I could bake tomorrow if he is feeling up to doing something."

"Muffins?" Alfie said hopefully.

"What else would I make with you in the house?" she asked. "Do you think Sam would like that, Dean? I don't want to pressure him, but Alfie told me how important it is to keep him active and I think he may be tired of doing dishes and folding clothes for me by now."

Dean considered. "If he's having the right kind of day, yeah, he'd probably get a real kick out of it. I don't know if he's ever baked before even. He might have with Jess but…" He shrugged. "This could be something new."

"Imagine," Elsie said a little sadly. "Baking with the children was one of our favorite things to do when they were young. To never have that…"

Dean shrugged. "Not many places we stayed had actual ovens let alone baking pans. It just wasn't our life. Lisa was a baker, though, so I did some with her and Ben."

"Lisa is the woman whose son you saved from the changelings?" Elsie asked.

Dean smiled. When he spoke to them about his past, they tended to connect the timelines with hunts they'd read about. "Yeah. I lived with her and Ben for about a year after Sam took Lucifer down."

"Oh," Elsie said. "I didn't know that."

"The books didn't go that far," Dean said. "Though Chuck was still writing them after he lost his publisher. Sam kinda… persuaded him not to start publishing again."

"That's a shame," Elsie said. "I would have liked to have the insider knowledge of what happened."

Alfie tutted. "You and those books, Elsie. The stories were fascinating, yes, but the books themselves were trash. Besides, Dean is here now. If you want the inside scoop, ask him."

"It's better they weren't published," Dean said before Elsie could start asking. "People would have connected the dots to what was happening in the world back then to what Chuck wrote. I don't think they're ready for the truth to become that real to them. Besides, there were already enough fake Deans and Sams out there when they thought it was fiction. If they knew the truth, some of them might decide to start hunting, and that wouldn't end well."

"Fake Deans?" Alfie asked.

Dean grimaced. "They had this convention thing with Chuck. A bunch of fans got together in this hotel—which turned out to be actually haunted—and did something called LARPing. They dressed up as us and wandered around quoting parts of the books. I've lived through some pretty crazy times, but seeing a copier repairman dressed as me and reenacting some of the roughest points of my life is way up there."

"I can imagine," Alfie said as Elsie asked excitedly, "There was an actual convention about the books? I wish I'd known."

"You really don't," Dean said. "Like I said, the hotel was haunted, and the fact Becky was there should have been enough to put anyone off."

"Who's Becky?" she asked.

Dean chuckled. "Sam's super fan. She's nuts about the books, adores Sam, and even writes some of her own… fanfiction I think Chuck called it."

"What's fanfiction?" Alfie asked.

"Long story," Dean said. "But don't go looking for it. There's some really crazy stuff out there according to Sam." He grimaced as he remembered Sam explaining some of the fan stories he'd found one night when he'd gone online loaded.

Alfie pointed a finger at Elsie. "I know that look. Don't go looking for it. Stick to the awful books if you must."

Elsie nodded. "I will. I am curious though."

"Curiosity killed the cat," Alfie said wisely.

"Satisfaction brought it back again," Elsie replied with a smile.

Alfie shook his head with an indulgent smile. "I shouldn't even try, should I?"

"You shouldn't," Elsie agreed. "But you should open the door," she added when the doorbell chimed.

Alfie got to his feet and crossed the room into the hall. Dean heard the door open and Alfie's voice. He came back in after a moment with a small FedEx box in his hands. "I believe this is for you, Dean," he said.

Dean frowned. "It is?"

"I think it's Sam's wrist monitor."

He handed it over and Dean pulled back the seal and opened it. It was a red box with a plastic window that showed a square faced unit similar to a watch. He took it out and opened the package, shaking the unit free of its plastic packaging. It had a black fabric band, and it could easily be mistaken for a regular watch. Dean didn't think he'd have any trouble getting Sam to wear it. He opened the leaflet and read the instructions for how to turn it on and link it to his phone.

"This is great," Alfie," he said. "Really. It will help a lot." It might make his sleep easier as he wouldn't need to fear not waking if Sam needed him, and he could go out and relax knowing he would be alerted if Sam had a seizure.

"Good," Alfie said.

"How does it work?" Elsie asked.

"A body reacts in many ways to a seizure," Alfie said. "The motion you can see, but there are also skin changes. This will detect the motion and the–" He cut off suddenly as there was a muffled shout from down the hall.

Dean knew the voice and knew it meant nothing good. He leapt to his feet, scraping the chair legs against the floor, and ran into the hall to the study. He could still hear Sam shouting, obviously upset, and he threw open the door without hesitation, despite Doctor Platt's stern instruction that he and Sam should always be left alone to talk unless they were otherwise instructed.

Sam was on his feet, facing the corner, his face red with exertion. His eyes were wide and his hands fisted as he shouted at an empty space.

"No! Stop! I don't want to hear it!"

"Calm, Sam," Doctor Platt was saying. "Remember your breathing. Focus on that and the rest will fall away."

Dean thought Sam had as much chance of focusing on breathing as he had of stopping his own heart through will alone. He was panting hard and he looked furious.

"Stop it!" Sam shouted, still staring into the corner.

Dean stepped in front of him and held his shoulders. "Sam! Sammy, look at me. Whatever you're seeing, it's not real. Focus on me, remember."

Sam stared right through him, fixated on whatever it was only he could see.

"Dean, give him some space," Doctor Platt said. "He just needs a moment."

"Screw you," Dean snapped. "What did you do to him? What the hell did you say to make him like this?"

"Nothing," the doctor said, raising his hands. "We were just doing some mindfulness exercises. He has always responded to them well before. Something distracted him. He's seeing something else."

"Well duh," Dean said, fixing his attention on Sam again. He grabbed Sam's fisted hand and held it against chest. "Feel this. Feel me. I'm real. You remember this, Sammy."

Sam shook his head jerkily. "Don't say it!"

The volume of his voice pulsed in Dean's ears. He didn't know what to do. Sam's hand was shaking against his chest so hard it was juddering. Dean was afraid he was going to trigger a seizure like this. He didn't know what he was seeing, but it was clearly tormenting him unimaginably.

"What are you seeing, Sam?" Doctor Platt said calmly. "Talk to me about it. I can help you."

"Out!" Dean snapped at him. "Get out now!"

"Dean, I think–"

"If you ever want to come back here, you'll leave now," Dean said. "I don't care about your article or helping other people, I only care about him, and right now you're not helping. I know what to do for him."

"Come on, Doctor," Alfie said calmly. "Dean can handle this."

Doctor Platt allowed himself to be led from the room by Alfie with Elsie following him, leaving Sam and Dean alone.

Sam was still livid, staring through Dean at the corner, and Dean pulled his wrist down from his chest and forced his fingers to unclench. It was like trying to move stone, but when Sam sucked in a shaky breath, his fingers relaxed minutely and Dean was able to squeeze his thumb between them. He felt for the rough crescent scar that was there and pressed against it hard, hoping to trigger the memory in Sam.

"This is real, remember, Sammy? This is you and me, and it's real."

He willed Sam to relax, to hear him, but he couldn't. He was still shaking and when he shouted, "No, she isn't!" it was so loud it hurt Dean's ears.

Dean grabbed his chin and pulled his face down. "Look at me, Sam. What's happening?"

Sam seemed to realize he was there for the first time. "He's hurting me, Dean!"

Still keeping pressure on Sam's scar, Dean asked, "Is it Lucifer? He's not real. He's just talking. He can't hurt you." Though was that true? Whatever Sam was hearing now, it was hurting him.

"Not Lucifer," Sam said. "Bobby. He's saying things."

"Sammy," he said miserably.

Sam finally focused on him and his eyes were desperate. "Dean, make him stop."

Dean rubbed even harder on the scar, pushing through till he felt bone and said, "Feel that, Sam?"

Sam nodded, though he still looked infuriated. "I feel."

"Good," Dean said. "Don't look at Bobby. Look at me. See me."

Sam obeyed, staring in Dean's eyes with his tortured gaze. "He's still saying it."

"Don't listen," Dean said. "He's not real."

"He said he is. He said you just don't see. Why don't you see, Dean?"

"I don't know," Dean said miserably. "But he's not here to help. You have to ignore him and focus on me."

Sam stared into his eyes, his horror evident. "He keeps saying things."

"Tell me," Dean said. "I can tell you the truth."

"He's saying Jess is dead," Sam said, glaring through him again. "Dean told me she was okay! He wouldn't lie to me."

Dean's heart sank at the certainty in Sam's voice. He truly believed what he was saying. His faith in Dean's honesty was absolute, and Dean had let him down. He'd lied through omission. He'd wanted to protect Sam from grief, but now Sam's mind had opened the truth to him and he was suffering because of it. Dean hadn't protected him at all.

"She is okay," Sam said, looking at Dean again. "Tell me, Dean. Tell me she's okay. Make her be okay!"

Dean didn't want to lie. Sam had faith in him to tell the truth, and he didn't want to let him down now. The truth would hurt him, he knew, but didn't he deserve it? Maybe his honestly could start to untangle some of the chaos in Sam's mind.

Ultimately, he didn't need to say anything at all, as Sam saw the truth in his hesitation. His face crumpled, and his knees buckled. He fell to the floor, dragging Dean down with him with his hand still clasping Dean's.

"No," he moaned. "Please, no."

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean said desperately.

"You said she was okay!" Sam accused.

"She's in Heaven," Dean said. "She'll be okay there. She'll be happy." He knew that was a lame defense and Sam would never accept it, but it was all he had to offer.

"She's dead?" Sam asked. "Really dead?"

"Yes," Dean said.

Sam released Dean and hugged his arms around himself. He rocked back and forth, howling, expressing grief in a way Dean had never seen. Even at the moment of Jessica's death, he had been more composed. This was a release of pain such as Dean had never seen in his life, and he would never have expected to see it from Sam.

He put his hands on Sam's shoulders and gripped them hard as Sam rocked. "I'm sorry, Sam, I am so sorry."

"Hurts," Sam moaned.

"I know," Dean said, feeling tears pricking his eyes.

"I have to do something. Save her. I can deal?"

"No," Dean said, his voice harsh at the idea of Sam doing that. He calmed himself and said, "It's been a long time, Sammy. We can't bring her back now without spoiling it for her. She's got peace now. We can't take that away."

"I want her."

"I know you do, but it's been too long."

Sam stopped rocking and looked at him. "How long?"

"Years," Dean said. "She died when you were in college. That's why you started hunting again. Do you remember?"

Sam shook his head. "No. It's all confused. What's wrong with me?"

"Some stuff happened," Dean said evasively. "You were hurt."

"By Lucifer?

"In a way," Dean said. It was ultimately down to his hallucination of Lucifer that this had happened.

"Tell me, Dean. Make me understand."

Dean dropped his hands from Sam's shoulders and clasped them in his lap. "I don't know what to say."

"Tell me," Sam insisted.

There was a knock on the door and Dean looked up as Alfie peered in. "Can I help?" he asked.

Dean had never been more grateful to see his friend. He needed guidance from someone better than him; he needed help so he would not fail Sam.

"Please," he said. He didn't ask Sam what he wanted as he was scared Sam wouldn't want Alfie there, but Dean needed him.

Alfie came in and pulled up a chair and sat beside Dean, looking at Sam. "Hello, Sam," he said gently.

Sam turned his hauntingly sad eyes on him and said, "Can you help me?"

"I'm going to try," Alfie said. "I think it's time you heard the full story."

Dean's eyes darted to him and he looked questioning.

"Yes," Alfie said firmly. "The _full_ story. You're ready for it, aren't you, Sam?"

Sam nodded.

"Dean, you should start. Tell Sam about Bobby."

"Bobby told me Jess was dead," Sam said quickly.

"He did," Alfie agreed. "And you know he was telling the truth, don't you?"

"Yes," Sam said miserably. "She's gone."

"Bobby's gone, too, Sammy," Dean said.

"He's dead?" Sam asked, shock stealing his volume. "What happened?"

"He was murdered by Dick Roman," Dean said. "He shot him."

A fresh tear slipped down Sam's cheek. "I don't remember."

"That's okay," Alfie said. "Things are going to be confusing for you at the moment. We'll help you understand it."

"Why am I confused?" Sam asked. "Why does it feel like this?" He waved a vague hand at his head.

"How does it feel?" Dean asked, curiosity drawing the question from him before he could suppress it.

"Everything is cloudy," Sam said. "I can't remember things. My thoughts slip away before I can catch them. Things get mixed up and they scare me. Why am I like this?

"You were in a car accident," Alfie said.

"I told you about this before," Dean said. "Do you remember? It's why you have the seizures."

"I forgot," Sam said quietly. He cast his eyes down and began to toy with the hem of his shirt.

"That's okay," Alfie said. "Things will be confusing for you. As Dean said, you were in a car accident. You were thrown around and your brain hit the sides of your skull. It hurt it, bruised it. You had a bleed in your head, too, and that put pressure on your brain. That pressure has injured you."

"I'm brain damaged?" Sam asked, obvious fear in his eyes as he looked at Alfie.

"You have a brain injury," Alfie corrected.

"You're a survivor," Dean interjected.

Sam shook his head. "It's the same. I'm wrong now. It's broken me."

"No," Dean said firmly. "You've been through something and it's hurt you, but you're not broken. You're still Sam."

"I'm not. I'm different. I know it."

"Different doesn't mean bad," Alfie said.

"It does for me," Sam said, the words bitten off. "I can't think properly anymore. I try and it drifts away. And then Lucifer comes and it's worse."

So it _was_ Lucifer that made Sam withdraw. Dean and the doctor had guessed it, but now it was confirmed and that was somehow worse. Each time Sam would go, it was because he was seeing Satan. What kind of hell was that for him?

"Is that why I see Bobby, too?" Sam asked. "Because of the accident?"

"We're not sure," Alfie said. "That wasn't happening before the accident, was it, Dean?"

Dean shook his head. "Bobby's new."

"He hurts me, too," Sam said. "He told me about Jess because he was angry. He wants me to do something but I don't understand. I don't remember."

"What does he ask you to do?" Alfie asked.

"I have to kill the monster. I don't know what one though. He doesn't make sense."

Dean wondered if Bobby was Sam's subconscious reminding him of the Leviathan threat. It could be his mind's way of trying to prompt him to get back to what they were supposed to be doing. Perhaps that was why he 'remembered' Jessica was dead, because she was a distraction from the truth. Sam wasn't supposed to take out Dick Roman though. This wasn't his fight. The real fight for Sam was scraping through each day with all that was against him.

"We don't need to worry about that," Alfie said. "It's not your monster this time, is it, Dean?"

"No," Dean said firmly. "Other people are taking care of it. What matters is taking care of you. Whatever Bobby else is saying, he's wrong about that."

"Where does he come from though?" Sam asked. "And Lucifer? Why can I see him?"

"Lucifer is because of what happened to you," Dean said. "You went somewhere that hurt you."

"The Cage? That's real? It's not the damage?"

"Yeah, the Cage really happened," Dean confirmed sadly.

"I really went there," Sam said. "I did it? I hurt all those people?"

"You saved the world," Dean said resolutely. "That's all that matters. Everything else was a mistake."

Alfie didn't know about their part in starting the apocalypse or what Sam had done, and through he'd clearly heard enough to be curious, he didn't show it. He was focused completely on Sam.

"In human, medical terms, what's happening with Lucifer is called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder," Alfie said. "That's why Doctor Platt comes. We're trying to help you. It might be different, it could be something supernatural that's happening to you, but we only have the means to work on it as a human problem."

"But we can't fix my brain," Sam said. "That's human and it's broken."

"You might fix yourself," Alfie said. "The human brain is an incredible thing. You might recover when it changes the way it works."

Sam shook his head. "I can't do this. I can't wait and I can't stay lost. I can't live this way."

Dean felt sick. "You have to, Sam. You have to be strong."

"I can't," Sam said desperately.

"You can," Dean said fervently. "You're the strongest man I know. You beat the devil. You can beat this. You just have to hold on while your body does what it's got to do. Are you hearing me?"

Sam nodded but Dean knew he wasn't listening.

"There is a good chance of recovery," Alfie said. "I have seen incredible things. Dean is right. You have to stay strong like I know you can."

Dean held up a hand and Alfie fell silent, watching Sam. He wasn't gone, but he wasn't fully there either. It wasn't Lucifer, Dean was sure; it was Sam blocking them out himself.

"No, Sam," he said firmly. "Look at me!"

Sam's eyes drifted slowly to him and Dean grabbed his hand an uncurled his fingers. There was no strength holding them closed this time. He rubbed against the scar. "Do you remember this? Do you know what this means?"

"Stone one," Sam said quietly.

"Exactly," Dean said, relieved Sam had retained at least part of that memory. "It means I'm going to help you. I will find a way to do this for you."

"Dean," Alfie said, caution in his voice.

"I'll find a way," Dean repeated stubbornly. "There has to be something, and I'll find it. But you have to fight until I can. You use me to hold on to. Understand? Will you do that?"

"Dean," Alfie said sternly.

Dean looked at him. "You read the books, Alfie. You know what I have done for him before. You know what we do for each other. There's plenty you haven't read. I'm going to find a way to do this, whatever it takes."

"That is exactly what I am afraid off," Alfie said, obviously angry now.

Dean looked at Sam who seemed oblivious to their conversation. "Look at me, Sam," he snapped. Only when Sam's eyes moved to him did he go on, impassioned. "I am going to do this. I will fix this for you, do you understand?"

Sam just looked at him. There was no sign he believed what Dean was saying, or even hearing it. He was empty.

He pulled his hand free of Dean's and got to his feet. He walked to the door and said, "I want to sleep now," under his breath.

Dean scrambled up and followed him out. "I'm going to fix this, Sam," he promised. "No matter what."

"Yeah," Sam said in a dead voice.

He could tell Sam wasn't convinced yet, but he would be. Dean would make sure of it. Sam was his brother and whatever it took to save him would be worth paying, as the alternative was to lose him, and Dean couldn't live with that.

* * *

 **So… That was some serious angst. Sam had to learn the truth eventually, and Bobby is the perfect tool for that. It still hurt to write it though. Forgive me for hurting our boys?**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	16. Chapter 15

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for the fab beta job, and Gredelina1 for being the best support system I could ask for. You ladies make this story for me xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Fifteen**_

An hour after Sam's meltdown, he was sleeping on his bed, exhausted by what he had been through. Doctor Platt had left, though he was planning to come back again in a couple days. Dean had been forced to accept that Sam's outburst was not down to the doctor but Sam's own mind. The doctor might even be able to help Sam cope with what he had discovered about himself.

Dean wasn't any more worried than he had been before. If anything he was reassured, as Sam's reaction to his grief was what he would have expected before. Sam was wounded and he was withdrawing to deal with it. He would have preferred Sam to stay with him, to talk, but this was his normal.

Though seeing Sam's grief for himself and Jessica had been among the worst moments of Dean's life, he was glad it was all out in the open now. Sam knew everything Dean knew, and now he would be able to sort through it and maybe understand what was happening to him a little better. If nothing else, Dean wouldn't be hiding stuff anymore.

Dean crept across the room to the chest of drawers where he kept his duffel. He rooted inside for the journals, his hand brushing against something metal. He pulled it out and saw it was Bobby's hipflask. Some whiskey still slopped inside it. He had stuffed it in his bag when he'd brought it into the hospital, not wanting the temptation of liquor in his pocket while he was trying to deal with what had happened to Sam in the early days. He'd forgotten it after a while, but now he turned it over in his hand. Bobby had been the one to break Sam today—the Bobby of his mind at least. He wondered what the real Bobby would have made of Sam's situation. Would he have backed Dean in not telling Sam the truth until now or would he have wanted Sam to know? He could never know now.

He tossed the flask back into the bag and picked up the journals. He checked to make sure Sam was peaceful still and then crept out of the room, leaving the door ajar so he would hear anything that happened.

Elsie and Alfie had returned to their shopping list, though Elsie looked strained and she quickly closed the cupboard door when Dean entered the kitchen and asked, "How is he?"

"Sleeping," Dean said. "He's exhausted."

"I'm sure," Elsie said fervently. "I've never heard anything like that before, not in person anyway."

"Me either," Dean admitted. "I've seen Sam hurting before, but not like that. It wasn't even that extreme when she died. It's like he held it in all these years and now he's just letting it go."

"It was awful," she said with a shudder.

"He's okay now," Dean said. "And he knows everything. That's got to be better."

"Yes," Alfie said, setting down his pen and looking at Dean. "But better for how long?"

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, concern creasing his brow.

"I mean after what you're going to do to him."

"I'm not doing anything to him," Dean said stiffy as Elsie frowned at her husband. "I'm taking care of him."

"Really, and when you have left him alone, how well do you think he will handle that?" When Dean looked at him blankly, he went on with a bite of anger in his tone. "I read 'All Hell Breaks Loose.' I know what happened to Sam at Jake's hands and what you did to save him. The books stopped with 'No Rest For The Wicked' when you died, but you said it ruined him. Tell me, Dean, what happened to him."

"It was bad," Dean admitted.

"Then why would you do it to him again? Don't you think Sam would rather stay exactly as he is now if it meant you were with him? You cannot make a deal and leave him behind again. It will destroy him, I am sure. You cannot do that to any of us."

He was impassioned, furious, and Dean was momentarily shocked at the change in his usually mild-mannered friend.

"I'm not leaving Sam," he said.

"Really? What do you think will happen when your deal comes due then?"

"Dean?" Elsie said fearfully, her hand on her chest.

"I'm not making a deal," Dean said.

Alfie frowned. "You're not?"

"No. It wouldn't work anyway. Crowley would never allow us to make a deal with him or any of his crossroad demons. We've not exactly come through for him lately, but he prefers us alive than dead right now. There's stuff he wants from us. Besides, things the way they are, Sam like this and me having to watch him suffer, that's Crowley's idea of a good time. He wouldn't get in the way of that."

"But you told Sam…"

"That I'd fix it," Dean said. "And I will. There has to be a way; I just have to find it. A healer, an angel, a witch even; someone has to know how to do it. I'm going to do whatever it takes to find them."

Elsie looked relieved but Alfie was still suspicious.

"I wouldn't lie to you, Alfie," Dean said. "I know what I owe you."

Alfie stared into his eyes, searching for something, and then he nodded. "Very well. I believe you. What are you going to do though?"

"I am going to search Bobby's notes first. He was in the hunt longer than anyone I know apart from Rufus. He can't have known anything to bring people back because he would have told me when Sam was killed, and I'm sure he didn't know a way to heal physically, but he might know something that can heal this mental trauma. If we can just take Lucifer out of the equation, that will help. I think Sam can cope if he's not being tormented all the time. It will give me time to find something that can fix the rest."

"And if Bobby doesn't have a solution?" Alfie asked.

"Then I'll start asking around. I have my dad's and Bobby's journals, and they're full of details of other hunters. I will track them all down and ask what they know."

"What can we do?" Alfie asked.

"What you're already doing," Dean said, looking from him to Elsie. "Both of you. You're doing everything by being yourselves and helping me take care of Sam. We're never going to be able to make up for what you've done for us."

Elsie smiled at him. "It's been our pleasure. You and Sam are special. I don't mean the hunting or the fact you have actually saved the world, but just who you are. We help because we both know you deserve it. Alfie told me that the day he first came home from the hospital. He saw something in you, and I see it, too."

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn't know what it was in him that they saw, but he was immeasurably grateful for it. They were good people, unlike any he'd ever known before, and he and Sam would be in their debt for the rest of their lives.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Elsie smiled and then her eyes fell on the journals in his hands. "Is that it?" she asked. "Your father's journal?"

Dean held it out. "Yeah. You want a look?"

"Can I?" she asked excitedly.

"Sure."

Elsie quickly dusted her hands on a cloth as if she was worried she'd dirty the journal and then took it from. She carried it almost reverently to the table and sat down. With careful movements she opened to the first page and her eyes brightened.

" _I went to Missouri and I learned the truth,"_ she read. "That was such a powerful line. Edlund may have had his flaws, but he could create an impact."

"Except he can't," Alfie said. "Those words were written by John Winchester himself. All the writer did was transcribe what he saw."

"Oh. I didn't think of that. It makes it better though. I am reading John Winchester's very own words in his very own writing."

Alfie looked despairing and Dean chuckled.

Elsie turned the pages one by one, an entranced look on her face. "All these people saved," she said. "Each page is a life, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but there was more than that," Dean said. "Each page is a monster Dad found, but he came up against most of them more than once. I doubt even he could have told you how many hunts he took in his life. I know I couldn't tell you all of mine. Sam might be able to. His memory is—was—incredible."

"It will be again," Elsie said confidently.

"Yes, about that," Alfie said. "You said you were looking for a healer for Sam perhaps. Have you met any healers since Faith?"

"Faith?" Dean asked. "Oh, the book. No, we haven't. Angels can heal, so Castiel did that a couple times, but no one else."

Alfie looked thoughtful. "But the healer in Faith was using a tethered reaper to transfer the sickness to other people."

Dean remembered it well. Because of Sam's determination to save him, an innocent man had died. His second chance at life had come at a price. He realized what Alfie was leading toward now.

"You want to know if I'd use a reaper for Sam?" he asked.

"Yes."

Dean shrugged. "Lucifer isn't a physical sickness the same way what happened to me then was, so I doubt they could transfer it."

"If they could?"

"I don't think you need me to tell you," Dean said. "You know me well enough by now."

Alfie nodded once, looking troubled.

"Put yourself in my position," Dean said. "If, God forbid, it was Elsie that needed help, is there anything you wouldn't do for her?"

Alfie looked at his wife and pressed his lips into a thin line, refusing to answer, though Dean knew what he was unwilling to admit. Alfie would do anything for her.

"Sam is the most important person to me," Dean said. "He always has been. I will do what I've got to do for him. If that makes me selfish or cruel, I can live with that." He sighed. "A reaper probably can't do it anyway. I'll try searching Bobby's notes first, and then ask around. If that doesn't work, I'll search myself."

Alfie looked pensive but he nodded.

"What about Sam?" Elsie asked. "How are you going to search with him?"

"I don't know," Dean said honestly. "I'll find a way."

"He could stay here," she said hopefully. "Alfie and I could take care of him."

"I can't leave him; this will take more than just a few hours," Dean said.

"Perhaps you should," Alfie said gently. "I know this will be difficult for you, but Sam needs stability. He needs to be here for Doctor Platt and he is due a check from Katherine soon. We can make sure he gets everything he needs."

"I'm not sure…" Dean said slowly.

"I know you don't want to leave him, but it would be best for him if you did," Alfie said. "You can't drag him around the country. Sam wouldn't be able to handle it as he is now. If you must leave, let us be the ones to help him. You know we can do whatever he needs."

Dean considered. The need to keep Sam with him was overwhelming, but he wanted what was best for him, too. Being away from Sam would hurt, but dragging him along would hurt him.

"I don't know," he said. "I know you can take care of him, but it feels wrong to leave him, too."

"Think about it at least," Alfie said.

Dean nodded. "I promise I will."

He opened Bobby's journal and started the turn the pages, searching for anything helpful and hopefully mobile. He would do what it took to save Sam, but he didn't think he would be able to leave him behind to do it.

* * *

Dean's certainty that Sam's withdrawal was a normal step evaporated the next morning. He had woken him in the evening to take his medication, and Sam had been quiet, but it felt normal. It wasn't until Dean woke from his restless sleep to see Sam staring up at the ceiling that he realized something was really wrong. Sam was somehow gone while still there.

"You going to get up?" Dean said with forced lightness. "We should go get breakfast."

Sam pushed back at the blankets and sat up. Looking blank, he took clothes from his duffel, walked into the bathroom and closed the door. Dean got his own clothes from his duffel and listened to Sam in the bathroom. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. There was something really wrong.

When Sam came out and sat down on the edge of the bed to put on his boots, Dean leaned forward. "Sammy, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Sam said in a flat voice.

"Look at me," Dean said.

When Sam brought his eyes up to him, he sucked in a breath. They were dead. There was no sign of emotion, of life, in them at all. It wasn't the same as when he saw Lucifer. He wasn't seeing something outside of reality. He was just gone.

"Sammy? What's wrong?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing."

"Talk to me," Dean pled.

"Why?" Sam asked. "What's the point?"

" _I'm_ the point! I need you. I told you I will fix it, but you have to give me something. Tell me what you're thinking."

Sam stared at him with those dead eyes. "I can't. There's nothing to say."

"Are you mad at me because of Jess and Bobby?" he asked. "You can blame me if you need to, but I was trying to protect you, Sam. You'd already been through too much. I was scared you couldn't take anymore. I'm sorry."

"I couldn't take it," Sam said.

"Then why are you pissed? Is it because they died? I should have stopped it, I know. I should have never taken you from Jess, and I should have protected Bobby. I'm sorry, Sam."

"I need to eat now," Sam said dully. He laced his boots quickly and stood and walked away.

Dean rushed after him and grabbed his arm. "Sam, please," he said.

"It's too late," Sam said without turning. "It's over now."

He pulled free and left Dean standing frozen in shock. This wasn't Sam as he had seen him before. There was nothing alive left in him. He was lost. How was Dean supposed to reach him now?

Devastation and fury rolling in him, Dean pulled back a fist to punch the wall and then froze. To do that would be to serve himself only. He would hurt others by doing it. Sam probably wouldn't register busted knuckles, but if Alfie and Elsie saw it, they would be upset. Dean had to protect them, even if he couldn't protect Sam.

Wiping a hand over his face, Dean picked up his clothes and carried them into the bathroom to clean up and prepare to start a new day of this nightmare.

He took his time in the shower, in no rush to get downstairs to his empty brother and the pain that caused, and only when shaven perfectly and neatly dressed did he find he had no more reason to delay. He hung up his towel and went back into the bedroom. Alfie was waiting for him, sitting on the side of Dean's bed.

Dean sagged at the sympathy in his eyes. "You've spoken to him then."

"If that is what you would call speaking, then yes," Alfie said.

"What happened?"

"Nothing. That's the problem. He barely said a word. He drank the coffee I brought him and toyed with the toast Elsie made. The only real response I got from him was when I gave him his meds, and that was to laugh."

"Did he take them?" Dean asked.

"Yes. He took them, washed his mug and plate, then walked out of the room without a word. He's going through the motions, but he isn't engaging at all. Elsie is very upset."

"I'm sorry," Dean said. "I hate that you're having to go through this, too."

"So do I, but not for the reason you think. I hate that Sam is feeling like this. To cut off the way he has is terrible. What he must he be feeling…" He shook his head. "Have you ever seen him like this before?"

"No. He's been distant before, but never like this. When I was talking to him, it was like he wasn't even there. He answered me, but he didn't connect. It was like I was talking to a stranger, not my brother." He sank down onto the edge of the bed. "What do I do, Alfie?"

"We need to get him help. We should call Doctor Platt and have him come speak to him again. He might have some insight we don't."

"I have to find something," Dean said. "I have to fix it."

"I know," Alfie said sadly. "I will make the calls, and you can get to work looking for help. I can help if you need me to. There are two journals."

"No. All I'll get from Dad's is names and numbers of hunters. I have read that thing cover to cover so many times. There's nothing in there I don't know."

"Then I will let you concentrate on finding something in your friend's and I will watch over Sam."

"Thank you," Dean said gratefully. "I don't know what I'd do without you and Elsie."

"We are happy to help," Alfie said. "You and Sam mean a great deal to us, and we want to do what we can. Elsie said you're special, and you are, but not just to us. The world needs you both, Dean, and that means we must save Sam."

Save was the right word, Dean thought. He had been trying to save Sam from his injury and trauma before, but now he was trying to save him from himself. Whatever had happened in Sam to change him, he had to bring him back.

Dean needed him more than the world.

* * *

Dean was sitting in the living room with Alfie and Elsie, waiting for Doctor Platt and Sam to finish.

It had been a tough morning of trying and failing to connect with Sam. He rarely responded to him, and when he did it was in curt and distant words. Dean had worried that they would not be able to get him to go into the study with Doctor Platt again, but he'd seemed resigned to it when the doctor arrived, following him into the study without a word.

They'd been gone a long time, and Dean was hopeful that Sam might actually be talking to him, but when they finally emerged, Sam walked right past them and the doctor shook his head.

"We need to talk," Doctor Platt said when Sam was gone. "I have asked Sam's permission to share with you what he said. He gave it, though I think it was more indifference than an actual decision. I can share it though, and that is the important thing. Would you like this conversation to be private?" he asked, glancing from Alfie to Elsie.

"No," Dean said. "We all need to know."

"Of course. Well, Sam did speak a little in our session, and I know you were concerned that he wouldn't. What he said is worrying though." He opened his notepad and checked something. "Sam is presenting with a form of disassociation disorder. It's hard to be sure, as I couldn't do a full assessment, but some of the things he said lead me to believe that is the case."

"What does that mean?" Dean asked.

"It means Sam feels disconnected from his body and actions. When I asked him if he knew who I was, his response was _'You're not real'._ I believe that is a sign that he has detached himself from reality and us."

He went on but Dean's ears were ringing and he couldn't hear the words.

' _You're not real'_ meant something to Dean. He had heard it before. Had Lucifer convinced Sam that he was in the Cage still or was this a shock reaction to what he had learned? Was it easier for him to believe that they were all imagined than for him to accept that Jessica and Bobby were really dead and that he was damaged? He couldn't do this again. Sam couldn't. Their situation was already a nightmare; they didn't need to pile more on.

He felt the couch dip beside him and a hand settled on his arm and squeezed it gently. He looked into Elsie's concerned eyes and the ringing faded.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"This is too much," he answered.

She took his hand and held it between her own. "You can do this."

Taking comfort in her surety, Dean turned to the doctor and said, "Sorry. I missed that. What were you saying?"

"As I said, this is a form of disassociation. If I had more to go on, I would possibly diagnose Derealization Disorder." He paused. "Sam said something else to me that made no sense. Perhaps it will to you. He said there is no 'stone' to build from."

Dean felt a punch of shock to his gut. He had been banking on himself and their bond to ground Sam in this, just like he had last time. Sam was completely alone in this now. There was nothing he could do to reach him. He was useless.

"I see you know what that means," the doctor said.

"Yeah," Dean said, his tone defeated. "It means we're screwed."

"What are our treatment options?" Alfie asked.

"Psychotherapy," he said. "There also is medication, which he is already taking, and hypnotherapy, but Sam's brain injury makes that inadvisable."

"We have to do something!" Elsie said. "You've been talking to him for weeks now and making no progress. Sam is worse. And he's taking the medication. He cannot be left like this."

"I agree," he said. "But our options are limited. Derealization Disorder is difficult to treat as it is. Combined with Sam's injury, it is even harder. I am going to do everything I can for him. I will make daily visits. I may have to make some outside of my usual hours, as I still have a full service to run at the hospital. I will come though, and I will spend as much time with him as I think he can handle." He looked at Dean. "I am going to do everything I can for your brother."

"Yeah," Dean said. "Me too."

He frowned, but Dean didn't explain. He couldn't. He would never understand, as he didn't know about the other side of the world. Dean did. It had never been more important for him to solve a case than this one. He would do anything.

"What can we do for Sam?" Elsie asked. "How do we help him?"

"Be as gentle as you can. If he isn't speaking to you, don't try to force it. Make sure he takes his medication. I don't believe he is any danger to himself, but keep a careful watch on him, and if that changes, let me know at once. If I am unreachable and you're very concerned for his safety, bring him to the ER and he will have access to the duty psychiatrist. Most of all, be patient. He may say things that are upsetting, but you have to remember it's not really Sam saying them."

Dean nodded. He could do that. He'd been through it before when Sam was without his soul.

"I should go," Doctor Platt said. "I will come back tomorrow as early as I can, but I will call first."

Dean stood and was going to see him to the door, but at that moment he heard a crash from the sun room. He ran in and saw Sam on the floor. As if things weren't bad enough already, Sam was seizing again.

* * *

Dean closed Bobby's journal and sat with his head in his hands and his eyes squeezed shut. He was tired and stressed. He'd spent two days ensconced in the living room, reading every page of the journal in hope that there would be some small clue as to what he could do for Sam, but there was nothing. He hadn't found even a hint. And Sam wasn't doing well. He'd had another two seizures since his breakdown and he still hadn't engaged properly. It was like living with a ghost of who he had been. He drifted from room to room and sat staring into space for minutes upon end. It was hard to see when it was Lucifer now compared to Sam just being lost.

He had accepted the wrist monitor without difficulty though, seeming disinterested when Dean had explained what it was for. Dean was slightly reassured that he knew when the seizures came wherever he happened to be at the time now.

Sam was currently in the kitchen with Elsie. She was making muffins and Sam was just sitting at the table. When Dean had left he'd been occasionally watching her with a furrowed brow. Alfie was doing something in the garden that involved his roses. Dean wasn't sure what it was. He'd been distracted by watching Sam when Alfie had been talking about it at breakfast.

He lowered his hands and stood. His next step was to start calling around hunters to see if anyone had come across something that might help them. He wanted a break first though. He needed to check on Sam and maybe get a coffee.

He walked through to the kitchen and sighed as he saw Sam's position. He was sitting at the table, staring into space again. Dean thought he was seeing Lucifer again.

Elsie was working at the counter, studiously not watching Sam. When Dean came into the room, she looked to him and said. "He's been gone two minutes now."

"He'll come back," Dean said, his tone remarkably even considering the turmoil he was feeling inside.

"I know," Elsie said. "I just hate to see him like this."

After another minute, Sam drew a deep breath and shook his head. "Hey, Sammy," Dean said.

Sam looked at him and shook his head, looking disappointed. It hurt Dean's heart to see it.

"Would you like a coffee?" Elsie asked.

"Please." Dean sat down at the long table and pushed aside the journal, watching Elsie as she took the coffee pot from the cupboard and loaded in water and ground coffee from the silver tin. She set it on the stove and hummed to herself.

"Would you like some, Sam?" she asked without turning.

Sam's gaze drifted to her and he frowned.

"Sammy," Dean prompted. "Do you want coffee?"

"No." Sam got to his feet and pushed the chair back into place before walking out of the room. Dean heard the back door open and close, and he stood and walked to the window. Sam was walked across the lawn to the cherry tree again. He sat down at the base and stared up at the peeking blossoms.

Elsie drew a shaky breath and Dean saw that she looked miserable.

"He's okay out there," Dean said. "Alfie's with him."

"I know. I just… This is so hard. I am a mother. It's my job to know the answers for my family, and you and Sam are family now." She bit her lip. "I hope that's not offensive to you. I just feel that you were always supposed to come here in the end. Do you understand?"

Dean crossed the room and pulled her into a hug. She reached her arms around him and held him with surprising strength.

"You are family," Dean said, pulling back and looking into her eyes. "You and Alfie had been so good to us, and we have given back so little. Very few people have helped us like this in our lives, and no one has been more gentle with us when we've needed it than you both."

"It is a pleasure." Elsie dabbed at her eyes as she went to the stove and removed the coffee pot. She poured a cup for Dean and handed it to him then glanced out of the window. "What do you suppose he's thinking?" she asked, looking at Sam.

"Right now, probably about Jess," Dean said. "He told me a story about her when we were out there the other day."

"I hope it's a happy one," Elsie said. "He needs that now."

Dean nodded as he remembered the day Sam had told him about Jessica and the cherry blossoms. He'd thought things were tough then, and he'd appreciated the fact Sam was opening a little, but this was so much worse. He didn't know if Sam would ever open again now.

He had to do something. "I'm going to take this into the living room and make a few calls," he said.

Elsie nodded vaguely, but she didn't seem to hear him. She was staring out of the window still.

He stood and carried his coffee into the living room and set it on the table beside the couch. He took his phone from his pocket and sat down.

He had a long list of numbers that he'd taken from Bobby's journal, and he considered where to start. It occurred to him that a lot of the hunters he knew were working the Leviathan problem with Garth and Annie, and he could save time by calling straight through to one of them and seeing if they'd heard anything first before slogging through the others. He took a sip of coffee and dialed Garth's number. He answered with his usual cheer.

" _Dean! How's it going?"_

"Hey, Garth. Things are… okay." He didn't want to open up to the truth. "I need some help though."

" _Go ahead. You know me, man, I'll do anything I can."_

"I know, and we're grateful," Dean said. "I'm looking for someone to do a little healing. Have you come across anything like that lately? A healer or angel even."

He didn't expect a positive response. He thought maybe he'd get a promise to ask around, but Garth caught him off guard.

" _What are the odds, man? I was talking about this only a couple days ago: how I'd wished we'd known sooner so you and Sam could have had a little help when you needed it."_

"What do you know, Garth?" Dean asked intensely.

" _It's a healer. We've got a guy with us called Mackey. He was going blind. He'd lost sight in one eye, and was losing the other, too. He heard about this guy with healing hands and checked it out. He wasn't expecting help, he was there on a hunt, but this guy blew him out of the water apparently."_

"He was legit?" Dean asked, his breaths coming fast.

" _Yeah. Mackey has perfect sight in both eyes now, and there was nothing shady about the guy at all."_

"Where is he based?" Dean asked.

" _Aw, man, now you're asking. I know he told me, but there's been so much going on lately that I can't remember."_

"Have you got a number for this Mackey?" Dean asked hopefully.

" _Sure. Hold on. I'll check my journal."_ There was a rustling on the line and then Garth reeled off a number.

Dean wrote it down and thanked him quickly.

" _No worries, Dean. Let me know if you need anything else. How are you off for cash?"_

"We're fine," Dean said. "Thanks, Garth. I'll call Mackey now."

" _Good luck,"_ Garth said. _"I hope it works out."_

"Me too," Dean said fervently.

He said goodbye and then ended the call. He stopped for a moment with the phone pressed against his chest, feeling the racing of his heart. For a moment, he considered telling Alfie and Elsie, sharing the hope and the news, but he hesitated. There was no guarantee that he could reach this guy Mackey had met yet. He couldn't build them up just to let them down. He needed to know more first.

He dialed the number Garth had given him and waited as it rang.

" _Hello?"_ The voice was uncertain, not recognizing the number.

"Is this Mackey?"

" _Yeah."_

"Hey, Mackey. It's Dean Winchester. Garth gave me your number."

" _Dean Winchester, huh. I've heard a lot about you from Garth and Annie. What can I do for you?"_

"Garth said you've had a faith healer help you recently. I'm looking for one."

" _Yeah. Fixed my eyes up. His name's Emmanuel. He's in Colorado. Place called Orchard Mesa outside Grand Junction. He's a strange guy, but I couldn't see anything wrong with what he was doing. I think he's a genuine healer. Let me just look up the address."_

"Thank you," Dean said, rubbing a hand over his face as he waited, feeling the sweat beading on his brow.

" _Here we go."_ Mackey recited an address and Dean jotted it down with a shaky hand. _"If you need anything else, let me know. I don't think you'll have trouble though. I think the dude genuinely just wants to help people."_

"I appreciate it," Dean said, eager to go now. "I'll let you know how it goes."

" _Good luck."_

Dean lowered the phone and blew out a breath. His heart still raced and he tried to calm himself. He didn't want to get his hopes too high in case it didn't work out, but at the same time this was huge. This could be it. He could maybe take the first step to healing Sam properly.

Alfie came into the room, tugging his gardening gloves off. "Well, Elsie's watching Sam and I'm done with the roses," he said. "They're pruned, fed and ready for summer. I think the red are going to be especially good this year. They… What's wrong?" He asked, peering at Dean. "Are you unwell?"

Dean shook his head. "I'm okay."

"You don't look it," he said, dropping his gloves onto the table and coming to sit beside Dean. He looked so concerned Dean half expected him to take his pulse. He'd get a shock if he did. Dean's heart was racing so hard he thought it would be visible in his throat.

"I think I've found a healer for Sam," he said. "There's this guy in Colorado that helped a hunter regain his sight."

"Well, that sounds great," Alfie said. "When are you leaving?"

"Soon," Dean said. "I need to work out what to do with Sam."

"I think you already know what to do," Alfie said. "Sam needs to stay here with us. He needed stability before, and he needs it even more so now. Elsie and I will take care of him, and you can bring help to him."

Dean sighed. He knew Alfie was right, but he didn't want to admit it. He felt that he needed Sam with him to be safe. What if something happened while he was gone? What if something happened on the road though? Sam could seize and hurt himself. He would be without Alfie's expertise and the hospital that knew him.

"I know," he said heavily. "It feels so wrong though."

"That's because your heart is fighting your head. You know what's best, but your heart wants Sam close. You have to decide which is more important."

"That's not a question," Dean said. "Sam has to come first."

"Exactly, so pack your things and go. I promise to take care of Sam while you're gone."

Dean nodded and stood. "Thanks, Alfie."

Alfie looked pleased. "I will go tell Elsie you're going. I am sure she'll want to pack something for you to eat on the road."

Dean smiled. "I'm sure she will. I'll just go talk to Sam. I can't just leave him."

"Of course. Do you have enough money for gas and somewhere to stay?"

"I've got plenty. Garth set us up."

"In that case I will leave you to speak to Sam while I help Elsie prepare your feast."

Dean closed the journal and stood. He would speak to Sam, tell him where he was going and why, and hope that it penetrated Sam's mind so he would have some hope.

That was what Dean had now. He didn't let it overpower him, because he was scared it was false, but he used it to enable to him to make the move. Otherwise he wouldn't have the strength to leave.

* * *

 **So… We're on our way to find Emmanuel. We all know what that means. It's time for the cutest angel in the garrison to make an appearance.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	17. Chapter 16

**Thank you Jenjoremy for working your beta magic on this for me, and Gredelina1 for encouraging and supporting. Thank you all for reading xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Sixteen**_

With each mile Dean drove away from Sam, the tighter the cord tied around his heart seemed to grow. It wanted him to go back to Sam where it was tethered on the other end. It was for Sam that he had to go though. If he was going to save him, he had to leave him first, even though it felt impossible.

He estimated that it would be a sixteen-hour drive to Emmanuel, and if he didn't sleep, he would make it by morning. That plan was soon defunct as he was exhausted by the time he was halfway across Idaho. He knew he had to stop and sleep or risk the same fate as Sam. It had been brought home to them all just how dangerous it could be to drive sleep-deprived, and Dean's nights hadn't been peaceful lately.

He pulled into the lot of the next motel he came to and walked into the small office. There was a young clerk sitting behind the desk reading. As the kid lowered his book, Dean checked the cover. With the way his life had been going lately, he almost expected it to be one of Chuck's books, but it was one of those sci-fi stories Sam had enjoyed when he was young.

The kid was pimply and his hair needed washing, but he was friendly and polite as he checked Dean in and recommended a diner down the street to get something to eat. Dean thanked him and handed over the cash. It felt weird to be paying with real money rather than a scammed card, but also good. It was the kind of thing Sam would have liked to do.

He took his key to the room down the block and let himself it. It was sparsely furnished, but the bedding on the king-size bed was a clean blue and the carpet didn't have too many stains. It was better than a lot of places Dean had stayed with Sam over the years.

He had Elsie's packed sandwiches and snacks to eat, so he didn't bother to go to the recommended diner. He just sat down at the table and opened the package. He took one bite of the sandwich before realizing he wasn't going to be able to stomach it without settling his nerves first. Before the wreck that would have meant a drink, but now it meant a call to check on Sam. Ideally that would mean calling Sam himself, but he had no idea if he'd talk or not if he tried, so he rang Alfie and Elsie's number and waited for them to answer, imagining the old rotary phone ringing in the hall.

It was answered by Alfie in his formal telephone manner. _"Alfred Foster."_

"Alfie, it's me," Dean said.

" _Dean, I wondered when you might have a chance to call. How are you?"_

"I've stopped in Idaho. I need to get a few hours of sleep at least before setting out again."

" _Sleep for as long as you can,"_ Alfie said. _"You know better than anyone how dangerous it can be to drive tired."_

"Yeah, I know. I will. How's Sam doing?"

He heard Alfie's sigh crackle the line. _"He is the same."_

"Has he asked for me at all?"

" _I wish I could say he has. Perhaps your explanation registered with him more than we thought. He hasn't said anything at all."_

Dean wished for different, too. He didn't want Sam upset, but to know his absence had registered at all would have been better than nothing.

"Did he eat?" he asked.

" _Yes, and he took his medication without complaint. He had dinner with us and then took himself off to bed. Elsie has checked on him and she says he is quiet though awake still."_

"You'll check on him again?" Dean asked hopefully.

" _Of course. I am an old man so am up many times in the night. I will check on Sam each time."_

"Thanks, Alfie. If he does ask about me, tell him I'm fine and will be back soon. I'm hoping I'll get this Emmanuel to leave fast so I'll be back early Thursday."

" _I will, and you drive safe. Sam isn't going anywhere, and this Emmanuel will probably be unaccustomed to your usual driving speeds. We have to keep him cooperative."_

"I'll be careful," Dean promised. "It's not a problem. I better let you go. You're probably busy."

" _I am not busy at all,"_ Alfie said. _"Elsie is having a late night in the studio working on a new project, so I am just keeping up with the world's news while I wait for her. We can talk as long as you need, Dean. Tell me about the journey."_

Dean smiled. It was a dull subject as most of the journey was along the fairly bland interstate. He appreciated what Alfie was doing for him, though, offering company, so he began to tell him about the gas station he'd stopped at that was so proud of their new restrooms that they had posted before and after pictures on the wall. Alfie laughed at the story and Dean smiled to himself as he appreciated what good friends he had found in Alfie and Elsie. When it was over, when Sam was well again and they left, he was going to miss them.

* * *

Orchard Mesa was a nice area to the west of the Rockies. Dean passed attractive houses and tried to build a mental picture of what Emmanuel would look like. He guessed at a retiree, maybe having a medical background like Alfie.

He wondered when the healing thing had started. He didn't think it had been going on for too long as hunters monitored healers after their tethered reaper hunt, and news would have spread to them if there was a genuine one out there. He tried to guess at how it had been discovered and what had created the ability. He hoped it wasn't another preacher the way Roy Le Grange had been. He didn't want to sit through a sermon on the drive back to Oregon. He would if he had to, of course, but he was hoping for a normal guy that wasn't particularly loquacious that just happened to have healing hands.

The idea amused him and he smiled to himself, feeling better now that he was close to his destination, more in control. Soon he would be on his way back to Sam, and that would feel even better.

He pulled onto the street Mackey had given him and looked at the houses. They were mostly white, set back from the street with high steps to reach the doors. The number he'd written down was at the very end of the street and he drove slowly toward it, pulling up a few houses away. He needed just a minute to brace himself. So much rode on this—especially Sam's state of mind. There was nothing more important in their lives at that time.

A deep blue station wagon drove past him and pulled onto the driveway in front of the house he was there for. Dean watched carefully as the driver's side door opened and a woman climbed out. She was pretty, with shoulder length reddish brown hair. She went to the trunk and opened it to retrieve the grocery sacks there. The front door opened and a man stood in shadow. She turned and said something, and then the man walked down the steps.

Dean's breath was punched out of him. He was frozen in shock, watching in disbelief as the man went to the car and brushed the hair back from the woman's face. He said something that made her smile, then he took two of the sacks from the car and hefted them into his arms. He glanced at Dean's car for a moment before walking up the steps and into the house.

Dean's paralysis broke and he slammed the car into gear. He did a U-turn in the road and sped away, his heart pounding and breaths coming fast.

He couldn't believe what he had just seen. It was impossible. Castiel was dead, not living in Colorado, dressed like an elderly man ready for a couples' bridge night. He was _dead_!

Dean drove recklessly fast through the streets before a near miss with a garbage truck brought him back to himself properly. He had to stop and breathe. He couldn't drive like this. He pulled over on the side of the road and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes and trying to calm himself. He didn't think he could deal with this.

How was it possible? If Castiel was alive, why hadn't he come to them? He could have helped them clean up the mess he'd created. Dammit, he could have fixed the damage he'd done to Sam.

He should have been there, not living what looked like a pretty damn good life while every hunter was slogging against the Leviathans that he'd freed and Sam was suffering in his own mind. And Dean. He deserved better from Castiel. He had been a good friend to Castiel, defending him to the end. He'd helped him fix his mistake even after what he'd done. The angel owed him. Dean was living a nightmare, and his friend should have been there. He'd needed him.

He pulled his phone from his pocket with a shaking hand and dialed. Elsie picked up after only a moment. _"Hello?"_

"Elsie," Dean said, his voice coming choked from the lump in his throat.

" _Dean, what's wrong?"_

"I found the healer," he said.

" _And he won't help?"_ she asked.

It was the natural assumption to come to after hearing the tone of Dean's voice, and Dean wished it had been that easy. He had been confident that he could persuade 'Emmanuel' to help, but he didn't know what he was going to do with Castiel. He hadn't come to them; he had chosen himself, not them or the world. What could he do to make him help them now? It wasn't like Dean could threaten him. He couldn't do anything but beg, and Castiel's stint as God and the cruel things he had done made Dean sure he wasn't going to be swayed.

"It's Castiel," Dean said. "The healer is Cas."

" _Your angel friend?"_

"He was a friend, yeah. I don't know what he is anymore. He was supposed to be dead, Elsie, but he's not. He's living this suburban life, and he looks happy. After what he did to Sam, he's happy!"

" _I don't understand. What did he do?"_

"He was the one that did this to him. Castiel broke Death's wall. That wall was protecting Sam from it all, his memories of Hell, but Castiel broke it to distract us when we were trying to stop him from making a big mistake. He was going to destroy everything, and we had to stop him. I had to leave Sam, alone and lost, to try, and I was still too late. Castiel did it. That's what's out there now, Leviathans." He broke off, panting, realizing he'd said too much.

Elsie didn't seem concerned about the Leviathan revelation though. She sounded calm as she said, _"You said Castiel could heal though."_

"Yeah, he's an angel."

" _Then this is even better, isn't it? You already know he can do it. And he owes you. He'll help."_

"But why didn't he come to us sooner?" Dean asked. "If he'd wanted to help us, he would have come to us straight away. I don't think he cares about owing us anything."

" _You need to make him care,"_ Elsie said. _"Tell him what's happening. He'd have to be very hard-hearted to not help you now."_

"He's an angel, Elsie. They're not like us. I don't… Hold on." His phone was beeping. He pulled it from his ear and glanced at it. It was Sam's monitor alerting him. "Elsie! Sam's seizing!"

" _I'm going,"_ Elsie said, and then there was the click of a disconnected call.

Dean closed his eyes and took a breath. When he'd left, he hadn't considered how hard it would be to know Sam was seizing while he was so far away. He could imagine far too clearly what was happening to him right now. Sam suffering while Alfie and Elsie watched him, knowing there was nothing they could do.

There was nothing Dean could do either, nothing but turn the car around and go back to Castiel and beg for him to help Sam. He had to push down his doubt and anger—because he was angry with the angel, very angry—and get Sam help. That was what mattered.

He put the car into gear and pulled away from the sidewalk.

The ride back to Castiel's house seemed to take too short a time. Soon Dean was pulling up outside and climbing out. He locked the car and walked up the steps to the door. Taking a breath, he knocked.

The woman he had seen outside opened the door. She had a sweet smile and kind eyes, and she looked pleased to see Dean. Perhaps she had seen Dean sitting outside before and thought he was finally gathering the courage to ask for help.

"Hello," she said gently. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, I hope so," Dean said. "I'm looking for…" He broke off, unable to say the name.

"You need Emmanuel," she said. "Come in."

Dean wondered if she knew who Emmanuel really was. Had Castiel told her the truth or was he using her to hide out here and avoid his responsibilities?

He followed her into the airy hall with cream walls and a tawny rug. She led him into a living room with high-back armchairs and a small couch. At the back of the room was a dining table and chairs. The only sign of Castiel that Dean could see was photographs of him and the woman on the mantlepiece.

"I'm Daphne Allen," she said. "I am Emmanuel's wife."

"Dean," he said.

"Well, Dean, take a seat and I will tell Emmanuel you're here."

Dean sat on the edge of one of the armchairs and clasped his hands between his knees. He was nervous about seeing Castiel. How was he going to react? Was he going to sit down and listen to Dean or just kick him out for arriving and interfering in his new life? Did he see this as some form of witness protection even?

Daphne came back into the room followed by Castiel. Dean waited for a sign of recognition, but there was none at all. He just held out a hand to Dean to shake and said, "Hello, Dean. Daphne tells me you need my assistance."

Dean nodded mutely, examining Castiel for a tell. There was none. He smiled welcomingly, but there was no sign at all that he knew who Dean was.

Castiel had proven he could act in the year leading up to the Leviathans being unleashed, as he had completely fooled them until the very end, but Dean didn't believe he was acting now. He suspected Castiel had no idea who he was. Could he have some kind of amnesia? Did that even happen to angels?

Dean felt a surge of anger. The fact Castiel could have this, his slate wiped, none of the guilt for what he had done, while Dean and Sam lived with the aftermath wasn't fair. Then again, what in life was?

He pushed down his anger and gave Castiel a tight smile. He had to treat this meeting as a hunt. He was playing the part of a stranger, and he needed information and help from this person.

Castiel took a seat and folded his hands in his lap. "What is ailing you?" he asked. "I can't sense anything."

"It's not me," Dean said. "It's my brother."

"Ah, I see. And he's not with you?"

"No. We couldn't move him. He's in Oregon."

"That's not a problem," Emmanuel said. "I can go to him."

"You'll do that?" Dean asked.

"Of course. It is my mission to heal, and sometimes the ailing cannot come to me in person. I must go to them."

The combination of this with the fact Castiel didn't seem to recognize him made Dean think he really didn't remember. If he had, he would have found a way to refuse Dean. Not that Dean would have let him. Now that he was there, he realized he needed him and would have to find a way to get him to Sam, even if it meant taking him there at gunpoint. He seemed willing though, and Dean thought his amnesia was actually a blessing. It was going to get Castiel to Sam and that was what mattered.

"What is his diagnosis?" Castiel asked.

"He's got a few," Dean said. "He was in a car wreck and he had liver damage and a traumatic brain injury. His liver has healed now, but we're still dealing with the brain injury. He's got some mental health issues, too. He has PTSD from something that happened to him before the accident, and now he's got some kind of disassociation thing going on. He's shut down from us." He drew a breath. "Is that something you can fix?"

"Perhaps," Castiel said, exchanging a look with Daphne. "I have only healed physical illness thus far, but I will absolutely try with his other ailments. I should be able to make life a little easier for him at least."

It wasn't the assurance Dean had hoped for, but he still had hope. Castiel was an angel, whether he knew it or not, and that meant serious power. He should be able to do something. He had a better chance than any other healer Dean could have found.

"You must have had a long journey," he said. "I will make you some tea while you rest and then we can leave. I see you drove here. Will you be driving back? I am unable to fly as I don't have the correct documentation."

"Me either," Dean said. "It's not that bad a drive though. We can get there by tomorrow evening if I drive right through."

Castiel nodded. "I will make tea. Daphne, do you think you could pack a bag for me?"

"Of course," she said gently. She touched Castiel's arm before she slipped from the room and Dean heard her footsteps on the stairs.

Castiel stood and walked into the hall. Dean followed him, unwilling to let Castiel leave his sight and needing to ask him a couple questions. They went into a well-appointed kitchen and Castiel filled a tea kettle and set it down on the stove. He took cups and saucers from a cupboard and placed them on a tray.

"You look very tired," he said.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. It's been rough recently."

"I can imagine," he said. "I have seen many people come through my door with heavy burdens, needing my help. I think you're among the worst. You must care about your brother very much."

"I do," Dean said. "He's all I have left from before."

"Before?"

Dean shook his head. "It doesn't matter." He quickly changed the subject. "How long have you been doing the healing thing?"

"Only a matter of months," Castiel said. "I do not know what I did before that."

Dean could have told him easily enough, but he wanted to know the story so he asked, "You don't remember?"

"No. I have amnesia. My first memory is waking at the edge of a river, naked and afraid. Daphne found me, she was hiking, and she brought me here to take care of me. When I realized I could help, having healed a burn she got while cooking, I began to experiment. I have not yet found anything I can't do. Daphne supports my work, and a month ago we were married."

Castiel was married! That was a head trip in itself.

"She seems like a good woman," he said.

"She is a very good woman," Castiel agreed. "I don't know what I would do without her."

"I get that," Dean said.

"You feel the same way about your brother."

"I do. Sam is a good man, too, and he doesn't deserve what's happened to him lately. I need to help him."

Castiel removed the kettle from the heat though it wasn't ready. "You don't need tea, do you?" he said. "You need us to leave now."

"I really do," Dean said.

"Then I will help Daphne and then we can leave. We can get to Sam and I can try to help him."

Dean nodded. That was exactly what he needed.

* * *

 **So… They're on their way. I wrote Emmanuel once before in my first full-length fic — Clean Slate — and it was fun to revisit his character.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	18. Chapter 17

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for all you've fixing up this chapter. Thank you Gredelina1 for all your support. Thank you all for reading xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Seventeen**_

Dean eyes were starting to burn and blur with tiredness by the time they passed by Boise. It was just past midnight, and he didn't want to stop, but he knew there were still another five hundred miles to go, and he'd never make it without getting some sleep.

"We're going to have to stop," he said to Castiel. "I've got to get a few hours at least."

"Yes," Castiel agreed. "We both need to sleep."

Dean's eyebrows rose. Castiel had only slept before in the last days before the apocalypse, when he was fallen almost completely to human. Dean was sure he wasn't fallen like that now, not if he was healing people, but why else would the angel need sleep? Perhaps it was a part of his human delusion. If he really thought he was Emmanuel, he would also think he was human, and he would think he needed to sleep.

"I'll stop at the next motel," Dean said.

They drove on for another twenty minutes before they came to a place on the edge of town advertising vacancies. Dean pulled into the lot and stopped in a spot beside the office. He checked he had his wallet and then climbed out of the car. Castiel imitated him and stood beside the car like a waxwork. "You want your own room?" Dean asked him.

"No, we can get a double if you don't mind. There is no need to spend more money than we need and I am assuming you are not going to want to stop for long."

"You're right," Dean said. "Give me just a minute."

He walked into the motel office and saw a tired looking middle-aged woman sitting behind the desk. She smiled at him and asked, "King?"

"Two queens, please," Dean said.

"How many nights?"

"Just one. We'll be gone by morning. We just need a stop on the road."

She made a note in an old-fashioned guest book and turned it to him. If you could just sign there, it will be fifty even. Card or cash?"

"Cash," Dean said, taking the bill from his wallet and handing it to her.

"Thank you," she said, sliding a key over the desk. "That's room two, just next door.

Dean thanked her and went outside to Castiel. "We're in two," he said.

He walked around to the trunk and took out their bags then carried them to the room. He unlocked the door and went in, flipping on the light. The room was fairly anonymous, with dark bedding and drapes and grey linoleum floor. It would be fine for a night.

"You need the bathroom first?" he asked.

"You can go," Castiel said. "I'll wait."

Dean took his wash kit from his bag and carried it into the bathroom. He made quick work of cleaning up and preparing for bed, eager to sleep now that he could. The sooner he slept, the sooner he'd wake and get back on the road.

When he went back into the room, Castiel was sitting on the edge of the bed nearest the window holding a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt in his hands. Dean tucked away the kit in his duffel and sank onto the second bed as Castiel went into the bathroom and clicked the door closed behind him.

It was too late to call and check on Sam. He'd be sleeping, and he'd been okay when Dean had called a few hours ago, so Dean tried to stow his worry and relax as he stretched out on the bed.

He had intended to wait until Castiel was out before crashing, but he fell asleep almost straight away. He stirred when Castiel came out and clicked off the light before getting into the second bed, but he couldn't make himself wake properly to check Castiel was okay.

He slept too deeply to dream and was woken with a jerk when his phone started beeping. His eyes snapped open and he grabbed it up. His heart sank as he saw that it was the alert for Sam's seizure band. He quickly acknowledged it to stop the sound and then sat up and dialed the house number. It was late and Sam could be seizing and unnoticed by Alfie and Elsie. He had to tell them. The phone seemed to ring forever before Elsie answered, sounding wide awake. _"Is that you, Dean?"_

"Yeah. Sam's having a seizure."

" _I know. Alfie is with him now. We heard him fall out of bed_ ," she said quickly _. "I can't talk now. I have to help. We will call as soon as it's over."_

"Yeah, okay, just take…" He trailed off as the call disconnected. "Shit!"

"What's wrong?" Castiel asked, leaning up on an elbow.

"Sam, my brother, is having a seizure," he said.

"How do you know?"

"He's got this thing he wears. It senses them and tells me when it's happening. My friends are taking care of him now." He turned the phone over in his hand, needing it to ring and tell him it was over.

Castiel sat up. "I need to heal whatever is making him have seizures?" he asked.

"That's definitely part of it. It was the injury he got in the wreck that did it. If you heal that, it should take care of it all."

"All of the physical side of it," Castiel clarified. "We don't know about the rest."

"You'll find a way," Dean said confidently. He had to.

Castiel nodded. "What happened to your brother? You said he had something wrong before the accident, PTSD. What was the trauma?"

"It's a long story," Dean said.

"We have time. I assume you are waiting for a phone call."

Dean sighed, aware of the ludicrousness of explaining the story to Castiel who had been there for every step of it and had even had a part in the worst side of it. He was the one that had betrayed them and set it into motion.

"Sam was trapped with some very bad people for a long time," he said. "Think of the worst place imaginable, and then multiply it by a thousand. Then you might come close. He went through literal Hell. It hurt him so much he would never have been able to cope. There was this person, though, a healer like you, and he fixed it so Sam wouldn't remember what happened to him. It saved him from his hell."

"What happened to change it?"

"We were betrayed," Dean said bitterly. "There was this guy, our friend—he was actually more like family—and he had powers, too. He used them to hurt Sam. He broke down the thing protecting Sam and it ruined him. He managed for a while, he was dealing, and then there was the accident. It just… broke him. He hasn't been the same since, and it just keeps getting worse. And it's all because of Cas. He did this to us." His hands fisted unconsciously.

"You're very angry, aren't you?" Castiel asked, not reacting at all to Dean's use of his name.

"Of course I am," Dean snapped. "He was family and he hurt Sam. He hurt me. I trusted him with my life, with Sam's life, and he chose to do this. It wasn't a mistake. It was a decision he made. We would have done anything for him, but he went and did that. Sam would never be in this mess if it wasn't for him; he wouldn't have been in the wreck at all. That's all down to Cas."

"You hate him," Castiel stated.

"I don't know what I feel about him anymore," Dean said. "A lot of people have let me down in my life, but no one ever did it to purposefully hurt me the way he did. It would have been easier to forgive him if he had done it to me, but not to Sam. And it wasn't just us. He hurt a lot of people doing what he did. I don't know which is worse."

"I think you do."

"Yeah. What he did to us was worse, because he knew he was doing wrong then. The other thing was about him trying to do good. I can't hate him for that part."

"How does Sam feel about him?" Castiel asked.

"I don't know what Sam feels about anything anymore. He's closed off to me because of what happened. Hell, I don't know if he even remembers Cas anymore. He's been losing so much lately. It just keeps getting worse. It's like this thing is chipping away at him, stealing him from me." He took a shaky breath. "I do know that he'd forgive Cas if he was Sam still. He's needed forgiveness in his time, so he finds it easier to dole out than me. I've needed it, too, but it's harder for me to give when trust is broken. Sam's a better man."

"You're not a bad man though."

"You don't know me," Dean said.

"I know enough of the world to see that someone that loves his brother as much as you do cannot be bad. I don't doubt you have darkness in you. I can feel that, I think you can be dangerous, but I feel that you can be very good, too."

Dean shook his head and repeated, "You don't know me."

Castiel started to answer but Dean's phone rang and he snatched it up. "Yeah?"

" _It's over,"_ Alfie said. _"He is resting now."_

"That was a long one. Are you sure he's okay?"

" _I am. I did a full check after. He's probably going to bruise from where he hit the floor, but otherwise he's fine. Elsie is with him still, and I am going back to him as soon as I have finished here. We will stay until he is sleeping again."_

"I'm leaving now," Dean said. "I'll be with you late morning. Tell Sam I'm coming."

" _You should rest. Get a few more hours sleep at least."_

"I've slept enough," Dean said. "We're coming." He wouldn't be able to rest now anyway.

" _Okay. I will tell Sam. Drive carefully though, Dean. You can't help Sam if you're hurt too."_

"I will. See you soon, Alfie." He wanted off the phone so Alfie could go back to Sam and he could get ready to leave.

" _Take care, Dean."_

Dean ended the call and looked to Castiel. "We're leaving. You can sleep in the car."

"Of course." He stood and took clean clothes from his bag then went into the bathroom.

Dean dragged over his boots and began to pull them on and lace them up. He had slept enough to be safe, and he needed to be with Sam. The sooner they were there, the sooner Castiel could heal him.

Sam needed them.

* * *

Dean was eager to get back to Sam, and by the time he reached the turn onto Alfie's street, his heart was racing.

Though he tried to keep himself calm and grounded, the fact this could be it, Sam healed, was at the forefront of his mind. He had brought not just a healer, but Castiel with the power of Heaven behind him. He could do this. And then Sam would be back. Dean would have his brother and the world would have one of its best hunters. They could rejoin the others in fighting the Leviathans, and for once they'd be part of an army against the war instead of just having their small family holding the reins.

Castiel seemed eager, too. He was leaning forward in his seat and his hands were drumming against his knees. Dean wondered if he could sense something from Sam already or if he was just really into his healing thing and anticipating the moment.

When they pulled onto the drive in front of the house, the door opened and Alfie came out.

"I have been watching for you," he said when Dean climbed out and looked at him questioningly.

"Is Sam okay?"

"He's in the yard with Elsie. She is painting outside today."

"But he's okay?"

"He seems fine. He has been calm since the seizure, though he still isn't engaging."

Dean nodded his appreciation and said, "Alfie, this is Emmanuel. Emmanuel, Alfie. He and his wife Elsie are the best people I've ever known. They've been taking care of us."

Alfie looked pleased by the introduction and he gestured them in.

"Pleased to meet you, Alfie," Castiel said, stopping to shake his hand before entering the house.

Dean followed them in and then led Castiel into the sun room. He looked out of the window at where Sam sat under the cherry tree. The blossoms had finally arrived. They spread out above Sam's head like a pale pink cloud. Elsie stood closer to the house, her easel set up in front of her with a stool of paints and mug of brushes beside.

"Take a seat, Emmanuel," he said. "Would you like a coffee?"

"I would like to help your brother first," he said. "I can feel him."

Dean wondered what Sam felt like to him, how his injury and state of mind would present themselves to Castiel's grace. He didn't ask though, unsure if he wanted to know.

"I'll go get him," Dean said. "Alfie, will you come with me?"

Alfie looked confused but followed him out to the backyard. They walked to Elsie who set down her palette and brush and smiled at Dean. "He's here?" she asked.

Dean nodded, his eyes focused on the painting on the easel. It was just vaguely painted in around the tree, soft pink patches, but Sam's face was clear beneath it. She had captured his expression perfectly, the look of sadness and longing he wore. Dean wondered if was Jessica and Bobby he longed for, or was he searching for the part of himself he had lost. The painting was beautiful, the best work from Elsie he had ever seen, but he hated it. Sam's suffering was captured with paint and canvas.

He turned away. "Yeah, I found him. I need to talk to you first though. It's about Castiel. He doesn't know who he is. He said he has amnesia and the dates match to the time we thought he died. He calls himself Emmanuel and he knows he can heal, but that's all. He's even married now. This woman that found him, Daphne, is his wife, and I don't think she knows the truth either."

"Oh my," Elsie said quietly. "Are you going to tell him the truth?"

"No. He hurt Sam before, and I'm worried that if he remembered, he'd leave us to fend for ourselves. Sam needs him, so I have to put aside what he did for now and use him for Sam. We have to act like he's Emmanuel and not let him see the truth."

"We will, absolutely," Elsie said. "But can you? I know how much he hurt you. Can you be calm around him?"

"I can for Sam," he said. "I managed to get this far with him and not snap. I can do it a little longer. When he's fixed Sam… I guess that's something we'll have to decide together. I've got to explain what's going on to Sam. Can you go keep _Emmanuel_ company? Tell him we'll be in soon."

"Of course," Alfie said. He took Elsie's hand and they walked into the house together.

Dean took a calming breath and went to Sam. He didn't look up at Dean, even though Dean saw from his frown that he'd registered his arrival.

"I need to talk to you," Dean said.

Sam looked up at him. "What?"

Dean squatted in front of him and said, "I found a healer."

Sam huffed a laugh. "Of course you did."

Shaking away the question of what Sam was thinking, Dean went on in a rush. "It's Castiel, Sam. He doesn't seem to know who he is though. He calls himself Emmanuel, and he thinks he's human. We have to play along. We can't let him know the truth or he might not help. He could flap off at any minute if he knew. Do you understand?"

"Don't tell _Castiel_ who he is?" Sam asked.

"Exactly. Can you do that?"

"Whatever you need, Dean," he said with a sigh.

This was about what Sam needed, but he didn't point that out. He was just glad Sam was cooperating. "Good," he said. "Come on in. He's going to help you now."

Sam stood and brushed down his clothes. He looked disinterested and didn't react when they got into the sun room and Castiel stood to greet him.

"Hello, Sam," he said. "My name is Emmanuel and I am here to help you."

Sam nodded. "Sure."

"Would you like to take a seat?" Castiel asked.

Sam sat down on the couch and placed his hands flat on his knees. Dean hovered beside him and Alfie and Elsie sat together on the other couch, holding hands tightly. The seemed as nervous as Dean felt.

"This might be uncomfortable," Castiel said. "I am going to search for the places that need to be healed, and that might draw attention to them. It's easier for me if you stay calm."

Sam looked at him expectantly and Castiel reached for him. He placed his hands on either side of Sam's head and closed his eyes. He concentrated for a moment, and then his hands blazed with blue-white light.

Dean heard Alfie suck in a breath and Elsie saying, "My Lord," but his eyes remained fixed on Sam. He looked indifferent at first, numb to what was happening, and then he grimaced with pain. Dean's hands fisted as Sam cried out. After what felt like a long time, Castiel dropped his hands and stepped back.

Dean quickly sat beside Sam and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Sammy?"

"I'm fine," Sam said breathing hard.

It was a Sam response to make, to play down the pain and push through, and Dean was filled with heady relief. Sam was being Sam again. In the hospital he had complained about pain, but now he was working through it. That had to mean Castiel had done it. Sam was back.

He swiped a hand over his wet face and squeezed Sam's shoulder. "You're okay," he said. "Just take a minute."

Sam nodded and rubbed his temples.

"How do you feel?" Castiel asked.

Sam looked at him finally and Dean felt sickened at what he saw. His moment of joy was replaced by devastation. Sam was closed off still. His eyes dead and his expression blank. "I'm fine," he said.

"Sam," Dean said mournfully.

Sam shook his head and stood. With all eyes on him, he walked to the door and went outside. Dean leapt to his feet and watched through the window as he walked across the yard and sat down under the tree again.

It hadn't worked. Sam was still lost.

* * *

 **So… That didn't exactly go to plan. Be honest though, did you expect it to? When are things ever straightforward in one of my stories?**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	19. Chapter 18

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me. You're the best. Thank you Gredelina1 for all you do for me and the story xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter**_ _ **Eighteen**_

Dean couldn't make his mind work. It felt like he was frozen completely by his devastation.

He had tried to prepare himself for this outcome, but he hadn't done a good enough job. It was _Castiel_ that had failed. He had wiped away the beating Dean had received at Lucifer's hands. He had brought Bobby back to life, healing a _broken neck_. Dean had truly believed he could fix this for them. How was it possible for him to do all the incredible things Dean had seen and not be able to fix Sam's mind? He felt betrayed all over again. He had needed this from Castiel and he had let him down.

"I don't understand," Elsie said. "Why didn't it work? I saw the light and Sam's reaction. Something definitely happened to him."

"He can't be fixed," Dean said in a dead voice, sinking down onto the couch again. "This is it."

"No!" Alfie said sternly. "One thing has failed. There are other things to try. It's not over."

"Isn't it?" Dean asked. "What else can we try? This was supposed to be our miracle, and it failed. _He_ failed." He glowered at Castiel.

Castiel looked unruffled by Dean's hostility. "I did physically heal him. There was dead tissue in Sam's brain and I repaired it."

"But he's still closed off," Elsie said. "Why isn't that better?"

"That was not something I could heal," he said. "It was more than just physical damage. It was something spiritual."

"What do you mean?" Alfie asked.

Castiel considered. "There is a wall around Sam. It's not organic. He created it himself. It's like he's protecting himself from something. I don't know how much of his mental health I was able to improve, but I could not remove the wall."

"That makes a change," Dean said bitterly.

"I don't understand," Castiel said.

Dean shook his head. "It doesn't matter. What you're saying is that you can't fix him?"

"I don't think I can heal more without Sam removing the wall. Even then, it might not be something that needs to be fixed. It could be that the extent of his damage now is self-inflicted. He could be fine if he opened himself."

"The disassociation," Alfie said thoughtfully. "He's doing it to himself."

"Why though?" Elsie asked.

"To protect himself," he said. "Think of when it started. Sam had just been dealt the news of Jessica and Bobby's deaths, and the fact that he had a brain injury. He was forced to face what had happened, and he was impacted with the grief of two deaths and a terrible personal loss at the same time. If he could find some way of protecting himself from that, wouldn't he? Wouldn't any of us?"

"He chose this," Dean said. "He's left me behind on purpose."

That thought was almost more painful than anything that had happened since the accident. Dean hadn't been enough for him to stay for. After everything they'd been through together, he'd chosen to leave him behind. Dean had given everything for him, and Sam couldn't give him this.

"It's not like that, Dean," Alfie said. "It was just too much for him to cope with."

"And it's not for me?" Dean asked. "He doesn't know what he's doing to me by choosing this?"

Elsie moved to sit beside him and she squeezed his hand. "He can't think of that right now."

Dean shook his head. He didn't have words to explain how he felt. They couldn't understand. They had read the books, but they hadn't lived it. It was impossible for them to understand what he and Sam did for each other, what Sam did for him, because it wasn't their life.

"I think I should go," Castiel said. "If someone could direct me to a motel, I will make my own way home tomorrow."

"There's a place in town," Alfie said. "I'll take you there now."

"Thank you," Castiel said. "I am sorry I could not do more for you, Dean. I wish I could have healed Sam completely, but at least you know now that this is something he can come back from. He just needs to do it for himself."

Dean laughed mirthlessly. "Yeah, that'll happen."

Alfie stood and gestured Castiel out ahead of him. Dean bowed his head and listened to their voices in the hall and then the opening and closing of the door.

"I don't understand how he could do this," Dean said after a long period of sitting silent with his hand in Elsie's. "He's left me alone."

"He had to," Elsie said. "It's the only way he could protect himself. If we're not real, then what he heard isn't either: Bobby and Jessica are alive, he's not injured, and life makes sense to him again."

"How can this make sense though?" Dean asked. "What kind of life does he have just drifting from room to room, ignoring us? That's not living; it's existing."

"We don't know," Elsie said. "He could be happy in his head. Perhaps there he sees the people he loves alive again."

Dean glanced over the back of the couch and through the window at Sam. "He doesn't seem happy. I know my brother, and like this he's hurting. If he would just talk to me, I could help him, but he won't even give me that. We could all take care of him, make him see there's reasons to keep fighting, but he won't let us."

"Perhaps Doctor Platt can help him."

"How? We can't tell him Sam had a miracle healing so it's okay for him to use all his tricks now." He released her hand and rubbed at his eyes. "I can't even be angry with him as it's my fault."

"How can it be your fault?"

"So many ways," Dean said. "If I could have got through to him before Lilith, I could have stopped Lucifer being freed at all. If I hadn't been so convinced he would fail and let Lucifer in, I could have found another way to stop him needing to take the dive. If I'd paid attention to what Castiel was doing, he would never have been in a position to want to break Sam's wall in the first place. It would be hidden from him still, and he never would have had the crash." He groaned. "This is on me."

"No," she said firmly. "It is on Castiel. He broke the wall. He set this in motion. I know enough about you to know that each of those things you listed was a mistake. You would have been doing all that you could to stop it. Lay the blame where it belongs: not at Sam's feet or your own, at Castiel's. He did this to you both."

Dean nodded, knowing she was at least partially right. "He asked if I hated Castiel, Emmanuel I mean, and I told him I didn't know. I know now. He has destroyed Sam and I can never forgive him for that. He's ruined everything, and he was supposed to be family. You don't do that."

"You don't," she agreed. "He was wrong and he did something terrible. But killing him is not the solution."

"I couldn't if I wanted to," Dean said. "I don't have the right weapon."

"But do you want to?"

"I don't know. For what he's done to me and Sam, I could, but he's doing good in the world now, and I can't take that away from other people."

"Good. Let him go and do what you can here. There must be a way to reach Sam, we just need to find it."

"I don't know how," Dean said. "I know Sam better than anyone else in the world, and I have no idea what to do next."

"Izzy!" she said, suddenly excited. "She reached him before; he was different when she was here. Perhaps she can reach him again."

"No," Dean said dully. "We can't do that to her. If she comes and he's closed, it will hurt her. She doesn't deserve that. She's just a kid."

His absolute defeat settled over him and he felt his eyes burning. There was nothing he could do to fix this. He could risk a little girl's heart, but it would be unfair. They had hurt so many people in their lives already. They shouldn't do it to a child.

He blinked and a tear slipped down his cheek. Elsie crooned softly and stroked his hair and he knew he had to get away. He couldn't breathe. If he stayed, he would break, and if he did that, he didn't think he would ever find a way to put himself back together again.

"I've got to go," he said, getting quickly to his feet. "Can you watch Sam?"

"Of course. Where are you going though?"

"I don't know. I just have to get out." He forced a wet smile and bent and kissed her cheek. "Thank you, Elsie."

Leaving her sitting in shock and sadness, he walked into the hall and grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door. The air outside dried the tears on his cheeks as he walked away from the house. He made for the car and then diverted away. He wanted to get loaded and he wasn't going to risk driving with the amount of alcohol he planned to have in him by the end of the day.

Leaving his brother to the care of his friend, he set off along the street in search of oblivion.

* * *

Dean sat in the corner of the bar watching people coming and going. It had been almost empty when he'd arrived, and he'd had no trouble getting a private table, but it was busier now night had fallen fully and he was the only one sitting alone. His expression had kept anyone from trying to join him though, and he was left in peace. It was strange that in a place this loud and busy that he felt peaceful in a way he could not alone in a room.

He ran a finger around the rim of the shot glass of whiskey in front of him distractedly then took a draw on his beer. He wasn't drunk, nowhere near in fact, but the presence of the option in front of him helped.

He saw movement at the bar and sighed. He should have known this would happen eventually. Alfie was here. He spoke to the bartender who pointed in the direction of Dean's table. He looked relieved as he caught sight of him and hurried over. Dean pushed away his drinks as Alfie took a seat beside him.

"I thought you would be drunk by now," he said in lieu of a greeting.

"So did I. But apparently, it takes more than half a beer to give me a buzz," Dean said with a shrug.

"Indeed. I was told that you bought these drinks hours ago and haven't finished them yet. So your intent was to get drunk when you arrived; what changed?"

"You," Dean said. "I couldn't be with Sam yet, and I wanted to be drunk so bad, I wanted to be wasted, but I knew I couldn't leave you and Elsie to deal with it either. If something happened, you would have called, so I needed to stay sober."

"I'm glad of it," Alfie said. "Alcohol poisoning is never an answer to any problem."

Dean nodded. "Took me a long time to learn that one."

"You have now, and that's what matters. In the morning I am going to take Castiel to the bus depot and see him off on his way home."

"Good," Dean said.

Part of him wanted to keep Castiel there. To make him try again and keep trying until he fixed Sam, until he broke down the wall and made him Sam again, but he didn't think it would work. He also knew he couldn't stand to be around him a moment longer than he had to be. Every time he thought of Castiel, he thought of Sam and what he had been. He wanted to strike out when he thought of what Castiel had done to them.

"He seems genuinely remorseful," Alfie said.

"He doesn't know the half of it."

"Exactly. He feels he has failed and he is totally unaware of just how much."

Dean's hands fisted. "I can't even think about him right now, Alfie. It feels like I'm on fire when I do."

"I understand. You should come home though. Sam is there."

"What's the point?"

"Sam is the point," Alfie said passionately.

"He doesn't care if I'm there or not. He probably doesn't even notice anymore. He has closed himself to me completely. No matter what's happened before, he's never been like this. He's run from me and hidden, but he's not done this."

"I am sure he cares in his heart. He just can't show it. Perhaps he doesn't think you're real, but you're still his brother in his heart. He knows who Dean is, even if he can't see that it's you. He needs you."

"No, he needs a miracle, and we already tried that. It failed. He's gone."

"What will you do then?" Alfie asked. "You can't sit here forever. The bar will close and you'll have to go somewhere."

"I don't know what to do. I can't think of any other way to help him. I know we should be fighting again, but I can't do that with Sam the way he is."

"Would you leave him with us?" Alfie asked.

"No. It's not your job to take care of him."

"It is ours as much as yours, Dean. You and Sam are our family now. If it would help you to be away, we will happily take care of him while you take care of yourself. You could come back anytime, but while you're gone, we will keep him safe. Doctor Platt can continue to visit. He might be able to help him still. It could be easier now that Sam's mind isn't so confused. This barrier he has created around himself, withdrawing from us, is something psychological that could be fixed with help."

"It wouldn't feel right," Dean said. "I know what you're offering, and I am so grateful, but I can't do it."

"Not even for Sam? If he was in his right mind, would he want you to stay and suffer or leave and take care of yourself and others again?"

Dean considered. He knew what Sam would want, and that was him fighting to save others. He didn't think he could do it though. Alfie and Elsie had already been too good to them. He couldn't ask them for more.

"I don't think so."

Alfie nodded. "You don't have to decide yet. The option will always be open. Perhaps give yourself a few more days to think about it. See how it is to be with Sam now and see how you feel."

"I will." He was sure his decision wouldn't change though. How he felt might, but the fact Sam would need him wouldn't.

"Will you come home now?" Alfie asked.

Dean nodded. "I guess I'd better."

He stood at the same moment the man at the table beside his own did. He bumped into him and quickly apologized, but the man glowered at him with what looked like genuine hatred and fisted his hands. Dean would have ordinarily been happy to fight the man if it was offered, he might enjoy it even given the way he felt with all his suppressed rage towards Castiel, but he was with Alfie and would not do that to him.

He apologized again and slid away from him to the door. They got out to the cool night air and Dean took a deep breath.

"That was uncomfortable," Alfie said. "I thought you were going to fight him."

"For a moment, so did I," Dean admitted.

Alfie turned for the parking lot behind the bar and Dean went after him. They were almost at the car when the man Dean had bumped into before came out. He looked furious though oddly excited. Dean knew trouble was coming.

"Get in the car, Alfie," he said.

He didn't look to see if he obeyed, but after a moment he felt Alfie step up beside him and he cursed under his breath.

"I don't want trouble," Dean said, raising his hands.

The man grinned. "That's a real pity, because I do."

"Look, I'll buy you a drink and we can call it good," Dean said, reaching for his wallet.

"I don't want a drink, Winchester, I want the angel." He blinked once and his eyes turned red.

Alfie sucked in a breath, and Dean snapped at him to get back even as he took a step back.

"Here I was, running my patch for deals, and I overhear you talking about the angel," the demon said. "I heard you and your brother had dropped off the map lately, and now I know why. You've been cozying up with the angel that double-crossed Crowley. I'm getting a promotion for this. He's been looking for Castiel for a while now. He knew he wasn't really dead, and he was right. The king is a genius."

"And yet he hired a dumbass like you," Dean said, reaching into his pocket for the demon knife. "I think that's some pretty crappy judgment." He brought out the knife and tossed it from hand to hand. "Get in the car, Alfie."

The demon laughed as Alfie finally obeyed. "I'll be right with you, Grandpa," he called after him. "I'll just deal with the Winchester first. I'm not allowed to kill him, but there's no rule against me pounding him into the ground, and I have free rein to kill someone like you."

Feigning fear, Dean stepped back again and when the demon came at him, wide smile in place and fisted hands ready for the attack, he rocked forward and jabbed up with the knife. It slipped between the demon's ribs into his heart. His red eyes widened and moment before he dropped down dead.

Dean rushed around to the side of the car and threw himself in. "Drive," he said quickly. "Go steady. Don't draw attention to us."

Alfie obeyed in silence, clearly in shock.

Dean felt no remorse for killing the demon, but he felt incredible guilt for the fact Alfie had witnessed it. Alfie thought he had been a good man, and Dean had just shown him the truth.

Dean wasn't just his friend or a brother. He was a hunter, too, and that made him a killer.

* * *

 **So… Alfie just had the truth slammed in his face. I didn't originally plan to bring danger to Alfie and Elsie, but when the story took this direction, I ran with it.**

 **I know in canon Emmanuel said he could heal spiritual problems, too, but I tweaked it this time.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	20. Chapter 19

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for fixing up this chapter for me. Thank you Gredelina1 for all your support. Thank you all for reading xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter**_ _ **Nineteen**_

Alfie stayed silent until they were on the road leading to his street. Only then did he ask, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Are you?" Dean asked.

"I'm not sure what I am," Alfie admitted.

"I'm sorry you saw that."

"You killed a demon," Alfie said.

"I know." Dean wouldn't apologize for that part of it. "I had to. He was going to kill you and he would have done worse to Castiel."

He might be angry—furious—with the angel, but he didn't deserve the fate he would have had at Crowley's hands. He would protect him from that because of all they had shared in the past.

"He would," Alfie agreed. "It's just a shock. I have seen much death in my life. People died on my table, and I served my time in Vietnam as a medic, but I never thought I would see that."

"What are you going to do?" Dean asked.

"Take you home," Alfie said. "Lie if someone asks. And never tell Elsie what just happened. She doesn't need to know how close we have been to a demon. She reads the books and has handled the fact it's all real, but I would not have her live in fear for anything." He cleared his throat. "What are _you_ going to do?"

Dean forced his mind to consider his next step. He had been reacting second by second to what Alfie saw and trying to keep calm about what it meant. Now that he thought about it, he knew what had to happen. "I've got to leave," he said.

Alfie nodded; though he looked sad, he didn't look surprised. "What will you do?"

"Get Castiel as far away from here as I can. He was the one the demon wanted. Crowley will come for him after what he did, and he'll torture him. I can't let that happen. No matter what he did to us, he doesn't deserve Crowley. No one does. And if we stay here, the demons will be drawn to you and Elsie."

"What about Sam?" he asked tentatively. "Will you take him, too?"

"I've got no choice."

"You do though," Alfie said plaintively. "You can leave him with us. You know we'll look after him. He'd have a chance at recovery with Doctor Platt. Even if he doesn't, we can make him comfortable. Please, Dean, just consider it. You could both stay. We could take Castiel somewhere safe and you could come back to us."

Dean shook his head. "I can't leave Castiel undefended, and I need Sam with us. I don't mean because I need him with me, though I do. I need him with Castiel. He's not going to be doing nothing while I'm protecting him. He's going to find a way to fix Sam."

"Do you really think he can?" he asked doubtfully.

"I have to hope that he can. If Sam's blocked himself on purpose, he's not going to just snap out of it because the doc talks at him. He won't engage in return. He won't talk to any of us. Castiel is the only chance we have."

"And if I was to beg you to stay?" Alfie asked. "Would that make any difference?"

"I wish it could," Dean said. "I don't want to leave either. I don't want to take Sam away from the only real home he has had a chance to be in since Jess, but it's what we've got to do. I have to protect Castiel, and I have to save Sam."

Alfie pulled onto his street without speaking and then stopped on his drive. "I don't want you to go," he said, his hands gripping the wheel.

"I know," Dean said. He quickly climbed out of the car and walked to the door.

Elsie opened it at his knock and smiled at him. "I'm glad you came home," she said.

Dean forced a smile for her. It _was_ home. He had never known anywhere quite like it. He was going to miss her and Alfie more than anything, but this was what he had to do. He was a hunter and Castiel was the case.

"What's happening?" she asked, looking between him and Alfie with concern.

Dean couldn't bear to answer. He glanced at Alfie and said, "I'm going to get Sam."

Alfie nodded and as Dean rushed up the stairs, he heard Alfie explaining to Elsie that they were leaving. Elsie made a pained noise and Dean felt a lump form in his throat. He was hurting her, and that was the last thing he wanted to do to the woman that had taken them in as her own.

Sam was lying on the bed, wide awake and staring up at the ceiling.

"You have to get up, Sammy," he said.

Sam answered without even moving his eyes from the ceiling. "Why?"

"Because we've got trouble. Up."

Sam sat on the edge of the bed and Dean grabbed clothes from the duffel for him. He tossed them onto the bed and said, "Get dressed."

He waited a moment to make sure Sam was going to obey and then he went into the bathroom to grab their stuff. He stuffed it into the bags haphazardly, not worried about whose was what, just needing to hurry. He went back into the bedroom and grabbed Sam's sleep clothes from the bed and put them into the duffel. Sam was tying his laces, and Dean took another look around the room to make sure they're not forgotten anything. Seeing nothing, he picked up the bags and waited at the door for Sam to finish. When he had, Dean said, "Come on," and walked out of the room.

Looking indifferent, Sam followed him out and down the stairs to where Alfie and Elsie waited. In Alfie's hands was a brown paper bag. He held it out to Dean and said, "The medication is in there and Sam's prescription. You must make sure he keeps taking everything; do you understand? He might not need the seizure drugs now, but stopping abruptly has side effects. He'll need to taper off."

Dean nodded. "Thanks, Alfie."

"There is some money in there, too. I know you have some, but we want to be sure you can get anything you need."

"Is there anything else we can do?" Elsie asked.

Dean looked at her and saw she had been crying. "Nothing but take care of each other," he said.

She stepped forward and put her arms around him in a tight hug. "You, too, Dean." She pulled back and touched his face. " Be careful."

"We'll be fine," Dean said.

"I know there is more to this than Alfie says. You wouldn't be running like this unless there was trouble. Don't do anything stupid thinking it's brave. The world needs you."

Dean felt a lump form in his throat and he coughed as he turned to Alfie. He held out a hand and Alfie shook it.

"You have to keep in touch," Alfie said. "Call as often as you can. We need to know what happens."

Dean smiled slightly. "You need to know how the story ends."

Alfie shook his head solemnly. "I need to know you're safe. You're family now."

"Thank you," Dean said, looking from him to Elsie. "I appreciate everything you've done for us, and I'll never forget it."

Elsie touched Sam's cheek. He bore it expressionlessly. "You be good to yourself, Sam," she said. "And come back soon."

"We both will," Dean promised. "When we can, we'll come back to see you."

Alfie shook his head. "I don't think you will. But please stay in touch. Don't leave an old man worrying."

"I'll call," Dean said. Needing to get away before he fell victim to his own emotions, he tugged Sam's arm and said, "Come on, Sammy."

He led Sam down the steps to the car and opened the door for him. Sam climbed in and Dean went around to the driver's side, pausing briefly to stow the bags in the trunk. He opened the door and then looked back to the porch where Alfie and Elsie stood, their hands entwined.

"Castiel is in room six of the Traveler's Rest," Alfie called to him.

"Thank you," Dean said. He got in behind the wheel and started the engine quickly then pulled away from the house. "You're okay, Sammy," he said. "We've just got to get away a while."

"Okay," Sam said in a dead tone. "Whatever you need."

This time Dean couldn't argue. This wasn't about what Sam needed; it was about him needing to save Castiel. Sam should be with Alfie and Elsie still, being cared for, but instead he was on the road with Dean again, running from danger.

* * *

Dean pulled up outside Castiel's room and hesitated before climbing out. He wasn't sure whether he should take Sam in with him. He seemed settled enough in the shotgun seat. Before he could make a decision, Sam made it for him. His expression became blank. Dean touched his arm but there was no response. Lucifer was back. Knowing he was unable to move him like that, Dean said, "I'll be right," before taking the keys from the ignition. He got out of the car and walked to the door. He rapped on it twice and said, "Emmanuel, it's Dean. Open up."

He glanced back at the car and saw Sam was still gone. Turning back to the door, he knocked again. Castiel opened it looking wide awake despite the fact he was in sleep clothes and the bed was unmade. "What's wrong?"

"We've got to go," Dean said pushing past him into the room. "Get dressed."

"I don't need you to take me home," Castiel said carefully. "I can get a bus."

"A bus will take you twice as long."

"I would be more comfortable…" he started.

Dean cut him off. "Look, Emmanuel, we're leaving now, and you're coming with us. Get your stuff ready and get dressed."

"Why should I?"

"Because it's not safe for you here," Dean said bluntly. "We have to get you away."

"The people you were with, are they safe? Did you hurt them?"

"No!" Dean said angrily. "I would never hurt them. And I won't hurt you either if you do what I'm telling you. I might not be going about this the right way, but I don't have time to explain right now. We're in trouble and we have to go."

"You're serious?" Castiel asked.

Dean raked a hand through his hair. "Just get dressed."

When Castiel hesitated, Dean grabbed his bag and threw it at him. "I will give you two minutes to get dressed and then I am going to drag you out of here. If you're still in your pajamas, so be it."

Castiel took clothes from the duffel and carried them into the bathroom. Dean went to the door and peered out at Sam. He was still gone. Dean checked the room for anything else Castiel may have left behind, but he could only see the motel bible on the bedside table. He scoffed. "Figures you'd read that," he said.

Castiel came back into the room dressed in the clothes he'd worn the day before. Dean grabbed his bag and carried it outside. He threw it into the back seat and stood, tapping his foot, as Castiel came slowly out of the room and closed the door behind him.

"Come on!" he snapped.

Castiel walked to the car and climbed into the backseat. Dean slammed the door after him and rushed around to the driver side. When he was in and the seatbelt fastened, he reversed out of their spot and onto the road.

"What are you going to do with me?" Castiel asked.

"I'm getting you away from town," Dean said.

"You really think I'm in trouble, don't you?"

"I know you are," Dean said. "I just hope there's no reason for me to be able to prove it."

He glanced at Sam who was still gone and he cursed. He had dragged Sam out of his home and he was going to be spending the foreseeable future with Castiel. He wished he'd never gone into that bar. He wished he'd never seen the demon. He wished he hadn't been raised to be the kind of person that couldn't leave Castiel behind to fend for himself.

* * *

They were on the I-82 before Castiel realized they weren't going to Colorado. Dean had hoped for longer before needing to explain, ideally they would have reached Rufus' cabin, but Castiel grew loud and insistent, and though Sam seemed oblivious to the noise, Dean didn't want to risk him getting upset.

"I demand to know where you are taking me!" Castiel said loudly.

"Okay, okay, give it a rest already," Dean said. "Let me find a place to stop and I can explain."

"We can stop here," Castiel said, reaching for the door.

"Wait!" Dean snapped. "You might have some kind of amnesia, but even an idiot knows stopping in the middle of the freeway isn't a good idea. Just sit and shut up for a minute."

In the rear-view mirror, he watched Castiel cross his arms over his chest and scowl. He could have his tantrum if he liked. Dean was saving his life, and as long as he stayed with them, he could pout all the way to Montana.

He saw a rest stop sign ahead and he pulled onto the exit and drove off the freeway. They traveled a short distance on a quieter road and then Dean pulled them over.

"Can I get out now?" Castiel asked petulantly.

"Yes," Dean said. "Go sit your ass down over there." He pointed at a set of picnic tables.

He watched Castiel stomp away and then he looked over at Sam. "We're stopping a while," he said. "You need to use the rest room?"

Sam nodded and got out of the car. Dean did the same and watched him walking into the restroom before he went and joined Castiel at a table.

He drew a deep breath but before he could speak, Castiel asked, "Why are you kidnapping me?"

"Because you're such good company, and me and Sam get lonely."

"Do you think this is funny?"

"No," he growled. "This is the furthest thing from funny. Thanks to you, I've had to pull my brother out of the place he felt safe and drag him onto the road again. He needs stability and care, and I can't give him that anymore because I am trying to help you. I don't even know why I'm bothering after what you did."

"What I did was try to help him. It's not my fault I couldn't heal him fully. I have done as much as I can."

Dean swallowed down the accusations he wanted to fling at him for what he had really done and the blame he held, and said, "This is about keeping you safe. There are people that would hurt you, and the only way I can protect you is to take you somewhere and stay with you. I don't want to be stuck together, believe me, but even you don't deserve the fate that these people would have for you."

"People want to hurt me?"

"Yes!" Dean said emphatically.

"Why?"

"Because you can heal," Dean invented. "The world is a bigger place than you know, Emmanuel, and there are real dangers out there. I don't think anyone deserves to suffer what they would do to you, so I am protecting you. I don't want to, so maybe cut me a break about this."

"What if I don't believe you?" Castiel asked. "I could have you arrested for kidnapping." He jerked his head towards the small coffee booth. "I could have them call the police and they would come and protect me from _you_."

"Then you'll die," Dean said curtly. "The people that want to hurt you will find you." He sighed. "Why else would I be doing this? What would make me drag Sam from his home and family and drive him across the country if not to save a life?"

"Perhaps you think I can save him still. You could be planning to hold me hostage until I do."

"I don't think you can save him," Dean lied. He was actually banking on the fact he could. If given long enough, he could find a way to reach Sam for Dean. If Dean could break this delusion that he wasn't real, he could fix him. He wouldn't tell Castiel that until the right moment though.

"I am not sure I trust you," Castiel said.

"Fine, don't trust that I'm trying to help you, but trust that you have no choice. I will keep you safe whether you like it or not, and if that means I have to shoot you in the foot and drag you back to the car, I will."

"You're not building confidence," Castiel said, though he looked afraid now.

Dean opened the front of his jacket to reveal the gun stowed in his pocket. "As long as you're confident I mean what I'm saying, I don't care what else you think or feel."

"Even if it was true, why would you protect me?" Castiel asked. "You don't like me."

"You're right, I don't, but I am going to do it anyway."

"Because you want something from me?"

"No, because it's what me and Sam do."

* * *

Dean was relieved when they finally pulled up outside Rufus' cabin. It had been a long drive and he needed to just stop and rest for a while. There was little chance of that with both Sam and Castiel to take care of, but he would do what he could. They were at least safe. They would lay protections and Dean would explain the rules to Castiel.

Dean and Castiel climbed out of the car and Dean went to the trunk. He popped it open and grabbed the weapons duffels.

"This looks like the kind of place you would bring someone to bury them in the woods," Castiel said. "Are you going to bury me in the woods?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "No. One, that would be kinda backwards seeing as I am trying to keep you alive right now. Two, I wouldn't bury you. That would leave too much evidence. I'd burn your body."

"That's reassuring," he said. "So far the only danger I have seen is the gun in your pocket and the look in your eyes that tells me you're not afraid to use it."

"I'm not afraid to use it. I am not going to use it on you unless you force me to though. I have it so maybe I can protect you. Some gratitude might be nice even."

"Thank you so much for kidnapping and threatening to shoot me," Castiel said.

"Shut up and come get the bags." Dean went around to the passenger side and opened Sam's door. "Come on, Sammy. We're here now. You can get out and we'll settle you inside. I think we left some coffee and food when we were here last time. I'll get you something."

Sam nodded and climbed out of the car. He stopped and watched Castiel as he unloaded the two duffels and his own neat overnight bag and set them on the ground.

Dean carried the weapons bags up to the door and set them down. He took the key from under the rock and unlocked the door. It stuck as it always did, and he had to kick the corner to free it. He pushed it open and bent for the bags again. He straightened and then his heart leapt as a woman stepped around away from the wall and sauntered toward him.

He knew even before her eyes turned black that she wasn't human as she was far too neatly dressed for someone who was in the woods for any legitimate reason. He hoped for demon as that would be much easier to deal with than a Leviathan, and was relieved when her eyes turned black.

"Winchester," she said in a low voice. "I'm here for the angel."

Dean reached for the demon blade in his pocket and had barely gotten it out before she swept a hand through the air and pinned him against the wall. The knife fell from his hand and her fingers reached for his throat. Unable to do more than twist his head away from her, Dean shouted, "Sam!"

His eyes found his brother and he saw Sam watching him. He wore a look of confusion but he wasn't moving to help. He just stood by the car, watching the scene play out.

Dean was on his own.

* * *

 **So… Things do not look good for Dean right now. I would apologize for the cliffy ending, but we all know I wouldn't mean it.**

 **Okay, wow, that episode! If you're still swooning from the awesomeness and want to share the squee'ing, I'll be waiting in my inbox.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	21. Chapter 20

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing for me and Gredelina1 for encouraging and supporting xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter**_ _ **Twenty**_

"Sam," Dean rasped as the demon's began to squeeze her fingers around his throat. "Help me."

Sam just looked at him blankly, as if oblivious to the fact Dean was being choked to death right in front of him. His inaction scared Dean more than the thought of his own impending death. If Sam wouldn't defend him, would he defend himself? Were they both going to die here and Castiel be taken? He should never have brought Sam with him. He would have been safer and happier with Alfie and Elsie. Because of Dean, he was going to die.

"I've been waiting for you a long time," the demon said. "Crowley told me you would come eventually, and the angel would be with you. Where the Winchesters go, the angel follows." She glanced over her shoulder at Castiel. "Be right with you, angel. Just got to put these two out first."

"Run, Sam," Dean whispered, a tear slipping down his cheek.

"He's not going anywhere," she said. "He doesn't seem all that with it today. Is he drunk?"

Dean didn't, couldn't, answer. He just stared past her at his brother who was watching with a furrowed brow.

"I got bored waiting," she said. "It gave me time to think what to do when you did come. I'm not allowed to kill you, Dean, but there are no rules about hurting you and Sammy a little before I take the angel. I think I'll wait until you're good and unconscious and then I'll have a turn with Sam. I don't think he'll even care, do you? Then I'll take the angel to Crowley and watch him break him apart."

Dean's eyes blurred and fell closed. He felt unconsciousness coming for him, and he fought it back. Then there was a rush of heat over his face and the hand on his throat disappeared. He fell to the floor as his eyes opened. Castiel had his hand on the demon's temple and blue-white light was blazing from her eyes and mouth. When Castiel stepped back, she dropped hard to the floor in front on Dean, her eyes charred hollows.

Dean drew a shaky breath that burned his throat. "Emmanuel," he said hoarsely.

Castiel looked stunned, staring down at the demon with horror. He looked up at Dean and then turned back to Sam, his expression becoming more wrecked by the second. "What did I do?" he asked, sounding horrified.

"You saved my life," Dean whispered, the words ripping through his abused throat. "You killed a demon, one of those things I told you were coming for you." He struggled to his feet and touched his injured neck tentatively. It was going to bruise like a bitch and eating was going to be a problem for a while.

"Let me help you, Dean," Castiel said.

Dean stood still as Castiel reached for him and then he felt the warmth and sting of healing. As Castiel pulled his hand back, he felt the pain disappear and when he spoke his voice was strong. "Thanks."

Castiel still looked stunned. "I am sorry," he said fervently.

"You believe me now then?" Dean asked.

"Yes. I know the truth."

"Good. We've got to deal with this then get out of here. Gather some wood. I'll be right there."

He went to the trunk and pulled out the spare gas can then went to Sam who was still standing unmoving. "You okay?" he asked.

Sam shrugged. "You're okay." It was a flat statement with no emotion behind the words.

"I am." He hesitated before speaking again, not sure he wanted his question answered. "Why didn't you help me Sam?"

"Because it wasn't real," Sam said. "I am not going to let this happen again. I won't be pulled into a war that's just there to distract me from what I need to be doing. I just need to wait until I wake up again, and then I can be with Jess."

Dean swallowed hard. Those were more complex sentences and thoughts than Dean had heard from Sam since the accident, which Dean thought confirmed the damage done to Sam's brain had been healed, but the words burned. The damage might be gone, but Sam's thoughts were still confused. He was stuck at the point of Jessica, and he seemed to have drawn his own conclusions about what he had to do, whatever they might be.

"What do you need to do?" Dean asked.

"I need to find a way to break this delusion. I have to get back to her. She must be so scared. I think it's working already, my focus, because my thoughts are easier now. I don't have to chase them. They're clearer. I just have to keep trying to wake up completely,"

"What do you think has happened to you to do this?" Dean asked.

"I think there was an accident. I remember being scared and in pain, and I'm guessing I hit my head." He sighed. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you, Dean. I know you think you're real, too. But if I do this, let myself become part of it, I will be stuck here. I have to get back."

The worst part was that Dean understood it. He thought he might even do the same in Sam's position. If he thought this was a dream and there was a real Sam out there that needed him, he would do whatever he could to get back to him. He thought he'd known what it meant for Sam to be gone, but if Sam had his way, it wasn't nearly over. Would he find a way to lock himself inside his head forever in an attempt to reach Jessica?

Dean was scared. Unless he could reach Sam somehow, he would lose him to his confusion. Sam would never come back if he thought Jessica was out there, needing him. Dean had to find a way to break through that and make him see the truth, though he had no idea how.

"I've got to help with the wood," he said, needing to get away. "Will you be okay here?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Do what you feel you need to do. I'll wait."

Dean turned away and took a breath. He could see Castiel gathering wood and creating a pile a little away from the house. He carried over the gas can over and began to build the wood into a pyre. Castiel came back with another armful and dropped it down.

"I am very sorry, Dean," he said.

Dean shrugged. "You didn't really have a good reason to believe me."

"I thought I was right."

"I know. I had a buddy that thought he was right, too, and he pretty much screwed us all over."

"Castiel?" he guessed.

"Yes."

"Do you know how you feel about him now?" he asked curiously.

"No. It's still confused. I know I'd risk my life and Sam's to help him, so I guess that counts for something, but I still can't forgive him what he did. Especially now that I'm seeing what it's really done to Sam."

"I am sure he's sorry," Castiel said.

"You think?" Dean asked. "That's the problem, Emmanuel, I don't think he would be. I think he was too different to feel real regret."

"I think you're wrong. I think everyone feels regret."

"You didn't know him," Dean said curtly, adding the new wood to the pyre.

"I didn't." He looked like he wanted to say something else, something important, but he shook his head and said, "Can I use your phone? I need to tell Daphne I am going to be away longer than we planned. I won't tell her the truth, but I think she should have some explanation. I wouldn't like someone else innocent to suffer because of me."

Dean frowned. "Who else has suffered?"

"You, Dean."

"I was only choked," Dean said. "That's happened plenty of times before. And I'm certainly not an innocent."

"I think you're wrong," Castiel said quietly. "I think you were before."

Shaking his head, Dean held out the phone to Castiel and then went back to the porch to fetch the demon's body. He would get her burned and then he would get them out of here, somewhere better, somewhere safe.

* * *

Dean knew he couldn't keep driving much longer. They hadn't stopped in the night, and it was now almost afternoon. He had been choked and though he had been healed, the trauma and fear of the moment, seeing Sam just standing there, and the conversation that came after had wrecked him. He needed rest.

He drove south a couple hours, eventually coming to a place called Seeley Lake and seeing an office advertising cabin rentals. Dean pulled them to a stop and turned in his seat to Castiel. "I'm going to go get us a place. Will you be okay here with Sam?" He cast his brother a pointed look, indicating that Castiel was to keep watch over him.

Castiel nodded. "We will be fine."

He climbed out and went into the office. There was a couple at the desk ahead of him, and he surmised from their conversation that they were handing in the keys and checking out. Dean hung back and waited for them to finish as they thanked the middle-aged clerk profusely for a great stay. When they left Dean stepped up and returned the man's smile. "Hey, I'm looking for a place to rent for a while."

"Of course," he said cheerfully. "How many will be staying?"

"We'll need three beds if you have it," he said.

"We have plenty available. Tourism has been down lately. Where are you looking for?"

"Anywhere," Dean said. "Well, somewhere out of the way. We need some space and privacy."

"Fishing? Hiking?"

"Yeah, sure, anything," Dean said. "As long as we're out of the way, we'll be fine."

He ran a finger down the page of the book and said. "I have the perfect place. The Bayshore Cabin is vacant. It's right on the edge of the lake and it has beautiful views. It's fully equipped with anything you could need. There is even fishing tackle you are free to borrow. We only ask that you take care with it. You can swim in the lake. It should be warm enough now, but be careful though. It seems shallow at the edge, but there is a pit just off the end of the dock and though it's deep enough to dive, it's deep enough to catch you off guard, too."

"Thanks for the tip," Dean said. "We'll be careful."

"Okay then. It is $550 a week. How long would you like it for?"

"I'm not sure yet. At least a couple weeks."

"That's fine. We have no pending booking for it. If you pay for two weeks now, you can return to us if you need it for longer. I will need a one week security deposit for contents and fittings."

"No problem," Dean said.

He reached into his pocket for the wad of bills that Alfie had given him and peeled the right amount off. He handed it over and smiled as the man thanked him profusely. He guessed if tourism was down, a surprise booking for two weeks was a big bonus. He took the key on the large fob shaped like a tree and the map to the cabin then thanked the man for his help. He shook his offered hand and turned and walked out to the car.

Sam was staring vacantly out of the window but Dean included him in the explanation when he told them that they had a place.

"He says it's got everything we need, but we'll have to pick up some food," he said. "I saw a grocery store on the way in. You two okay if we stop there on the way?"

Castiel nodded but Sam didn't react.

Dean started the engine and drove them out onto the road. The store was only a few minutes away, and Sam was aware again by the time they pulled up out front. "Come on," Dean said. "I need both of you for this."

They all climbed out and Sam trailed behind as they walked into the store. Dean grabbed a cart and led them along the first aisle. It was small place, but they had a selection of more fresh produce than Dean thought any normal person had a right to need. He looked at Sam. "Anything special you want?"

Sam shrugged. "Whatever you need."

Sighing, Dean began to grab stuff from the shelves and stuff it into the cart. He loaded up on fruit, thinking Sam might snack even if he wouldn't eat proper meals. He might not think it was real, but he needed to eat still and he'd been slacking on that recently.

When they had enough, Dean carried on to the fridges and began to gather fresh meat. He figured if they had proper appliances, he could cook some real food for them. Castiel might not need to eat, but if he thought he was human and was sleeping, he'd want to eat, too.

"That's a lot of beef," Castiel said when Dean added a third package of hamburger to the cart.

"I like hamburgers," he said.

He did, but he had been thinking of Castiel when he brought it. The one time he had eaten as an angel, he had mainlined hamburgers, so Dean figured that would be a safe thing to make for him.

They went into the can aisle and he grabbed prepared cans of food in case they couldn't get more groceries delivered. He didn't want to leave the cabin unless he had to once they were there, so he gathered all he could think of. They got fresh bread and rolls and then Dean gathered toilet paper and other necessities.

"Okay, we're done," he said to Sam who was hanging back from them and looking vaguely at a shelf. Dean wondered what he was thinking. How was he trying to pull himself out of what he thought was dream now?

He went to the checkout and waited in line behind a woman who was paying for her shopping with so much change Dean figured she'd raided a kid's piggy bank. When she was finally gone, he stacked the belt with all they bought, pleased when Castiel began bagging it as the young male clerk rang it through.

Dean paid with more of the money Alfie had given him, reminding himself that if he needed to come into town again, he'd need to take more of the cash Garth had given them. Right now it hidden by the spare wheel in the trunk.

"You don't deliver, do you?" he asked.

"Yes, sir, we do. I bring out the groceries to a few places on the lake in the afternoons. What do you need?"

"Nothing yet," Dean said, "But if I call it in, can you get it to us? We're going to be in the Bayshore Cabin. Do you know it?"

"I do. I've delivered to tourists a few times out there. I can bring bait from my dad's shop if you need it, too."

"We'll be okay for that, but we might need more groceries."

The kid jotted down a number on a scrap of paper and handed it over. "If you leave a deposit, we can deliver anything you need."

Dean handed him a fifty and asked, "That enough?"

"Yes, sir, that's plenty. You just call when you need us."

"I will," Dean said. "Thanks."

He tugged Sam's arm to make sure he followed and then went out after Castiel who was pushing the cart to the car.

He felt better now he had one more thing fixed. With groceries coming to them, they could stay longer in the cabin. He wouldn't need to leave Castiel or Sam to go out for supplies. He might be able to make this work out.

* * *

Dean knew before he was even in the cabin that it was far nicer than any place they'd stayed before. It was two stories and a good size, and it was made from rich red wood. To the right was the lake and to the left thickly growing trees. There was a dock that led onto the lake and a small shore a little further around the bay.

Inside it was even better. There was a large fireplace and couches that would seat six around it. A dining table stood between the stairs leading upstairs and the kitchen, and there were shelves of books against the wall that pleased Dean. Perhaps he could get Sam to read some. That would keep his mind occupied.

He set the weapons duffel down on the table and went up the stairs to check out the bedrooms. There were three rooms, each with a king-size bed. Dean guessed the cabin was designed for a trio of couples to share. He'd have preferred a room with twin beds so he could share with Sam and keep an eye on him, but there really was no need now. The seizures were probably over since Castiel's healing, and even if they weren't, Sam was still wearing the monitor on his wrist, so Dean would be alerted.

He went back downstairs to where Castiel was carrying in the rest of the bags and Sam was sitting on the couch by the empty fireplace, staring across the room. With a sigh, he went out to the car and grabbed two of the grocery sacks and took them into the kitchen.

"There's three rooms up there," he said. "I've got the middle, but you two can fight it out for the others."

"I don't think we'll need to fight," Castiel said. "I don't mind where I sleep."

Neither did Sam, Dean thought, watching his brother stare aimlessly across the room. He wished he would. He wanted Sam fighting for the biggest bed so he could try to fit all of his too long body in it. He would have fought once. Now he wouldn't fight for anything but to be away from Dean.

Dean unloaded the groceries into a cupboard and the fridge and then uncapped the bottles of Sam's pills. He filled a glass of water and then shook them into his hand.

"Here, Sam," he said carrying them to Sam. "You're running late on a dose, and you heard what Alfie said: you can't just stop these."

Sam held out a hand for the pills and Dean tipped them into his palm then handed him the water. Sam knocked the pills back with water then set the glass down on the coffee table. "I'm going for a walk."

Dean didn't want him out of his sight, so he said. "I'll come."

"I want to be alone," Sam said mildly. "I'll stay close if it makes you feel better. I want to take a look at the lake."

"Okay," Dean said. "But be careful. The guy that rented up the place said there's a deep pit off the dock."

"I will." He walked out of the cabin and clicked the door closed behind him.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" Castiel asked.

Dean sighed and raked a hand over his face. "I think so. He's just going to walk. He won't leave as that would serve no purpose. He thinks he been taken away spiritually not geographically, so leaving will do no good. I think he'll just sit out there searching for a place in his mind."

"What has happened to him?" Castiel said. "You told me there was trouble before the accident. What was it?"

Dean sank down onto the couch Sam had vacated and waited as Castiel came to sit opposite before starting his explanation. "You know demons are real now, so it shouldn't be too much of a shock to know that the Devil and Hell are real, too. Sam has experience with both. Well, we both do with Hell, but Sam is the one ruined because of it."

Castiel nodded for him to go on, his expression thoughtful.

"Sam was in Hell a long time, and it ruined him. I was warned he'd never be the same, but we got a pass from this person we knew, the most powerful person I've ever met. He created a wall in Sam's mind that blocked out the memories of Hell. That worked pretty much fine until it was ripped down. I told you about Castiel; well he was making a big mistake and we were trying to stop him. To distract us he broke Sam's wall. The things that had happened to him were suddenly in his mind. There must have been some kind of barrier still, as Sam told me he could see through the cracks. It confused him. He wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't. He began slipping away from me. He saw things and believed things that weren't real."

"What did he see?"

"The Devil. He would taunt Sam and scare him. It was because of Lucifer that Sam had the accident. He wouldn't let him sleep for days and he must have fallen asleep at the wheel. It didn't seem too bad. Sam was sleeping again, and though he had his injuries and still saw Lucifer sometimes, he was alive and that felt like a miracle. But then he got confused. He thought his girlfriend and our friend were still alive. Jessica died years ago and Bobby months, but Sam didn't remember. When he was faced with the truth, this happened." He waved a hand at the door. "He just shut down like this. He thinks we're delusions that are keeping him away from the real world. I don't know how to reach him."

"This was Castiel," he said. "He broke Sam."

"Yes. He stole my brother from me. He didn't even do it quickly and mercifully. Because of what he's done, Sam has suffered for months."

"Do you wish it had been faster?" Castiel asked.

"No. I maybe would have if the accident hadn't happened. I thought I lost Sam more than once after, and I realized then that I would do anything to keep him. I think sometimes that makes me a monster, because I can see he's suffering, but I would keep him if I could anyway. He's my brother."

"That's natural," Castiel said. "Sam is everything to you."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You've known us two days and you see that already?"

"I knew it the moment you asked me for help," Castiel said. "And I will help. I don't know what I can do for him, but I promise I will try. I won't leave him to suffer like this if there's anything I can to stop it. I see now that I was wrong."

Dean frowned. "You were wrong?"

"When I stopped before," Castiel explained. "I should have tried more, something different. I will again. Whatever I can do to make this right, I will do."

Dean smiled slightly. "Thanks, Emmanuel. I'm sorry I've been a dick to you."

"You're risking everything for me," Castiel said. "I owe you."

"Maybe you do," Dean said, thinking of everything Castiel owed them. "But if you can fix Sam, we'll call it good. Help him, and I'll owe you more."

"It might take time," Castiel warned. "I don't know how to do this."

"I know," Dean said. "We can be patient."

He would have to be. Castiel was their only hope. It didn't feel like enough, but it was something when they'd had nothing. It was Sam's only chance.

* * *

 **So… Sam thinks Jess is still out there. That scene was one of the saddest parts of this story for me, him telling Dean he wasn't real and Jess was waiting for him.**

 **I have mixed feelings about the episode this week. Shout at my inbox if you want to chat about it.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	22. Chapter 21

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this mess for me and Gredelina1 for being my cheerleader when I faltered.**

 **One of my very dear friends is going through a hard time and I am far away so there's very little I can do for her. I thought a little distraction might help, so this extra update is for her. Love you hon xxx**

 **In my excitement to post, I forgot to add a trigger warning. This chapter contains a suicide note.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twenty-One**_

 _Dear Alfie and Elsie,_

 _I never thought I would be the person that would have to write one of these letters. I'm not sure I am doing the right thing writing it even. I guess it'll be down to Castiel to decide whether to send it or not. He'll be the only one left to make the choice._

 _I thought maybe I should leave you to imagine us out there on the road again, living our lives, saving people and hunting things, but it felt right that someone that really cares about us knows what happened, and you're the only family we have left now. Castiel is gone, even though he is here, and everyone else is dead._

 _We can't do it anymore. Sam made that clear today, and I know he will make that choice again. I can follow him around and have Castiel ready to save him all hours, but I think that would be a worse kind of torture for him than he's already living in his confused mind. He needs to go and I cannot let him go alone. I have to do this for us both._

 _I don't have words to tell you how grateful I am to you for everything you did for us. Alfie, I tried to steal your car. Anyone else would have called the cops; you gave me a ride instead. You stayed with me as I watched that nightmare of a rescue play out, and then you were with me each step of the way in the hospital. I would never have been able to deal with the things that happened without you. Elsie, you took care of us before you even met us. Knowing there was someone else out there that cared what happened to me and Sam made it easier to handle our losses. You both opened your home to us, and I was happier there than I can remember being in the longest time. Even with Sam the way he was, things were good with you._

 _You know I don't throw the word family around easily, that's something you have to earn for me, but you've both more than done that. You are our family and that makes doing this even harder. It's only because I am doing it for Sam that makes it possible._

 _I know I have no right to ask anything more of you after all you've done for us, but if you would do one more thing for me, please remember us for who we were, not what we did. That's the most important thing to me now. I need someone to remember us as more than the strangers that appeared and saved their lives before disappearing again. We were people, brothers, before we were hunters. I had that the wrong way round for the longest time._

 _Take care of yourselves and each other,_

 _Dean._

* * *

 _ **Twelve hours earlier.**_

In the weeks that followed their arrival, they all settled into a routine. Dean left them only once to pay for more time in the cabin and to refill Sam's meds. Everything else came to them there. Propane for the stove was brought to them from town and groceries were delivered by the kid from the store. Everything else they could need was already there.

Sam spent most of the time he wasn't in the cabin out by the lake. Dean found a patio chair and took it out for him. He set it up on the end of the deck and Sam sat there for hours on end. Dean sometimes went out there with him, but he knew his presence made Sam uncomfortable, so he only did it when he really felt the need to be with him for his own peace of mind. He took Sam out a fishing pole once, thinking it would give him something to do, but it sat beside him untouched and Dean didn't bother again.

Castiel made more attempts to bring Sam back to them, but they failed. He could breach the barrier in his mind easily enough, but he couldn't bring it down. That was something only Sam could do. He didn't stop trying though.

Dean found his old bond with Castiel returning over time. He could sometimes look at him and see Emmanuel in the clothes he wore and the way he spoke, not Castiel. It was reinforced by the fact Castiel had no memory of what he had done to them; he _was_ Emmanuel now. They would talk for hours about all kinds of things. Dean told him a lot about their lives, and Castiel never seemed to tire of the stories. He even found himself talking about Castiel as he had known him without bitterness.

He also told him about Sam, his triumphs and sometimes his mistakes. It helped him to remember Sam as he had been, to keep the thought alive and show Castiel what they were fighting to bring back. It was like having his friend with him again.

They were sitting on the couches by the fireplace and Dean was telling the story of the very first hunt they'd taken when he'd fetched Sam from Stanford—the woman in white—explaining how Sam had defeated her.

"He drove your car into the house?" Castiel asked.

"Yeah. And it wasn't that plastic piece of crap outside either. It was my '67 model and she was beautiful. He busted a headlamp but that was all, lucky for him. I'd have beaten his ass if he'd hurt my baby."

"What happened to… your baby?" he asked awkwardly.

"She's on lockdown. Me and Sammy were cloned by these dicks called Leviathans and they made us America's most wanted again. We had to go undercover. We're really called Sam and Dean Winchester, not Smith."

"You have lived through difficult times recently," Castiel said.

"Yeah, I guess. It feels like times have always been difficult for us, but we've had each other. That's what makes it worse now. I don't have Sam with me. I don't even have Bobby."

"What happened to Bobby?"

"He was murdered," Dean said. "This asshole Leviathan called Dick Roman shot him. For just a little while we thought he'd make it, no more than a few minutes, but then he died. He was the last one left in our family. After that it was just me and Sam.

"I am very sorry, Dean."

"Yeah. Me too." He wiped a hand over his face, shaking away the emotions, and stood up. "I should make something to eat. Sam hardly touched breakfast."

"Or dinner yesterday," Castiel said. "He's losing weight."

"I know. It's almost impossible to make him eat more though. To him, this is all imaginary and the real world is the one he's trying to get back to. He just doesn't get that he has to take care of himself. There's some salad in the fridge. I'll try bulking it out with chicken today."

He went to the counter and glanced out of the window. Sam was facing away from him on the dock. Satisfied he was okay, he went to the fridge to get the chicken breast to cook.

"You mind making the salad?" he asked. "I can make us chicken burgers if you like."

"That sounds good," Castiel said. He went to the fridge and started filling a bowl with the various lettuces Dean had bought and some tomatoes.

Dean turned on the grill and got a pan from the cupboard. He was concentrating on what he was doing, feeling no urgency or fear for anything at all, but he suddenly froze with the knife in his hand.

"Do you think he'd like some…" Castiel trailed off as he looked at Dean. "What's wrong?"

"Sam," Dean whispered through numb lips. There was no reason to believe Sam was anything but fine, but he knew in his gut there was something not right. He moved to the window and looked out onto the dock, but Sam was gone. "Sam!"

He dropped the knife onto the floor with a clatter and ran for the door. He tried to tell himself Sam was okay, he was probably just walking, but he couldn't convince himself of it. His heart knew something was wrong.

He yanked open the door and flew outside. He ran at the lake, a cry ripping through his lips at what he saw. Sam was floating face down in the water.

He sprinted along the dock and threw himself in. The water was deep and he had to fight to reach the surface, his lungs burning. When his head broke the water, he drew deep breaths and swam with long strokes out to Sam. He was bobbing away from him, and Dean grabbed his arm and pulled him toward him. With difficulty, he turned him over and put his arm around his neck, holding his head out of the water.

He was a dead weight, and Dean felt sick with fear as he towed him to the shore. When his feet scraped the stony bottom, he began to drag himself through the water, towing Sam after him. Castiel appeared and grabbed Sam's other side and they carried him between them.

Dean wasn't aware he was crying until he felt the sob rip up his throat. How could this have happened? How could he have let it? How could Sam do this to him?

He staggered to a stop when only Sam's feet remained in the water and released him and then dropped down beside him. Sam's lips were blue and his eyes closed.

"Sammy," he moaned, his cold and shaking hand reaching for Sam's throat. There was no thud of life there, and Sam's chest wasn't moving. "No!" he shouted.

"Let me," Castiel said.

Dean didn't hear him. He tilted Sam's head back and blew two breaths into his mouth then moved to his chest to start compressions. He managed only a few before he was pulled away. He fought wildly to be free, unaware of the fact it was Castiel there, not an enemy. All he knew was that Sam needed him.

He was shoved away and then Castiel dropped to his knees beside Sam. "I will save him, Dean," he said.

"Yes!" Dean said, suddenly aware of what he was offering. "Do it!"

He scrambled forward on his hands and knees to Sam's other side as Castiel laid a glowing hand on Sam's chest. There was a moment of silence and then Sam drew a juddering breath. He coughed and water spilled from his mouth. Castiel turned him on his side and Dean moved quickly to hold Sam against him.

Sam's racking coughs ended, and he leaned against Dean with his eyes closed. He pushed Sam's wet hair back from his face and breathed shakily.

Sam's eyes opened a crack and he smiled weakly. "Jess, I'm back."

"No, Sam," Dean said mournfully, understanding coming with pain. "It's me."

Sam blinked and looked around at him. "Dean?"

"Yeah, it's me. You're okay. We got you back."

Sam shook his head slightly, his expression betrayed. "Why would you do that? I was so close."

"You were dead!"

"No," Sam said. "I was going home."

Tear's burned Dean's eyes and he let them fall, mingling with the lake water dripping from his hair. Sam pushed himself up to his feet, but Dean remained kneeling on the ground.

"How could you do that to me, Dean?" he asked.

"How could you do it to _me_?" Dean asked in return. "You tried to kill yourself."

"I was going to live again," Sam replied, his voice choked with emotion. "How do I get her back now?"

He walked away along the shore and around the cabin. Dean watched him go with horror.

"I'm so sorry, Dean," Castiel said, his voice wrecked.

"I don't know what to do. How can I fix this?"

"I wish I knew," Castiel said. "I wish that so much. I will help you though. We will find a way."

Dean looked at him imploringly. "How?"

"You've always found a way before, haven't you?"

Dean nodded. "What if this time I can't? What if I've had all my chances already?"

"We'll find a way," Castiel said again. "We have to."

Dean pushed himself to his feet. "I need to help him. He has to get warmed up." He walked along the shore and into the house.

When he got inside, he realized the burner was still on. He turned it off and followed the wet footprints up the stairs to the bathroom. He heard the shower running and over the sound of water, Sam's sobbing words. "I tried, Jess, I swear I tried. They dragged me back. I'm so sorry."

* * *

 _ **Eight Hours Earlier**_

Sam was asleep on the couch. Though Castiel had healed him, he seemed to have been exhausted by what had happened. Or perhaps it was his crying fit in the shower that had drained him. It had seemed to last forever to Dean who had stood outside listening to him, helpless.

Dean was sitting on the front porch, facing away from the hateful lake that had nearly taken Sam, toying with the phone in his hands. He needed to make a call, but was trying to brace himself. He hadn't spoken to them since he'd left, in a selfish attempt to protect himself from feeling their absence, but he needed them now.

He dialed before he could stop himself and brought the phone to his ear and listened to it ring.

" _Hello?"_

"Hey, Elsie, it's me," he said tiredly.

" _Dean!"_ Her voice rose and became muffled as if she was covering the receiver. _"Alfie! It's them! It's Dean!"_ She became clear again and said, _"How are you? We've been so worried. We didn't want to call at the wrong moment in case something was happening, but we never knew when the right moment was. Are you okay? How's Sam?"_

Dean wanted to tell her the truth but he couldn't bear to break her heart. "We're okay. How are you guys?"

" _We're fine. Izzy and Amanda have been here today. Izzy misses you and Sam. She asked when you'll be coming home."_

"Say hey for us," Dean said. "Tell her we're sorry we couldn't say goodbye."

" _I will. You have to see her again though. She'll be sad otherwise."_

Dean felt like an asshole for upsetting the little girl, and Elsie, but he couldn't make promises now.

" _How is Sam?"_ she asked. _"Is there any change?"_

"None good," Dean admitted. "He's slipping further away even. We've found somewhere safe though, and we're together."

" _That's something I suppose."_ Her voice became muffled again as she spoke to someone else and then she came back. _"Alfie wants to talk to you now, Dean. Call me again soon. I miss you both so much."_

"We miss you, too," Dean said. "Bye, Elsie."

There was the sound of the phone exchanging hands and then Alfie said, _"Dean, what's wrong?"_

"How do you know something's wrong?" he asked.

" _You called. It's been weeks without a word and now you're calling. Is Sam okay?"_

"Not really. Worse even. But I'm taking care of him."

" _Is he taking his medication?"_

"Yes, and there have been no more seizures. He's talking differently, too. I think Castiel really healed that part of it. That's not really the problem anymore though. It's his mind. He needs help that I don't know how to give anymore. I don't know what to do?"

" _What do you want to do?"_

"I want him to fight it. I want him back."

" _Yes, but what do you want to do?"_

"I want to let go," Dean admitted quietly. "He did something today that scared the crap out of me. I see now how lost he is, and I think the only way to help is to let him be free again. I don't think I can ever get him back."

" _You mean let him live his delusion?"_

"Something like that, yeah."

" _Do you think that would be better for him?"_

"Yes," Dean said honestly. "I think I'm only hurting him making him live our way."

" _I see."_ He sighed. _"I cannot advise you in this, Dean. I don't wish for you or any of us to lose Sam, but if you believe it's right, perhaps that is the best thing to do. Have you thought of coming back here? There is a chance Doctor Platt could help. There are other hunters out there, I know. Couldn't one of them take responsibility for Castiel and free you to take care of Sam?"_

"I'm thinking something like that already," Dean said. "It might be the only way."

" _Then do what you must do for yourself and Sam. We will welcome you home at any time, no matter how long it takes you to come."_

"I know," Dean said. "I appreciate it." He could not go back though. Doctor Platt couldn't help. Only Dean could give Sam what he needed. "I should go," he said. "I left Sam in there with Castiel, and I should get something ready for him to eat. He's not been taking care of himself lately, and he really went through something today."

" _Of course. Call us when you can. We will be here waiting for you."_

"Thank you, Alfie, for everything."

They exchanged goodbyes and Dean ended the call. Tucking his phone back in his pocket, he stood and walked into the house. Unknowingly, Alfie had given him the confidence to do what he needed.

He would take care of Sam.

* * *

Dean addressed the envelope and set the pen down. He had done what he must for Alfie and Elsie; it was now time to do what he needed for him and Sam.

He had known before he spoke to Alfie what he had to do, but his words had cemented the decision.

Dean did want to help Castiel, but Sam had to come first and this was what he needed. He had to set him free.

He had written Castiel a letter, too, giving him Garth's number and explaining enough that he could go to him and the others for protection. It wasn't the best he could do for him, but it was all he could manage under the circumstances. He would take that one with him so Castiel would see his name with the message underlined beneath: _Don't bring us back._

Satisfied he was ready, Dean walked up the stairs to his bedroom. Sam was asleep when he checked on him and Castiel was doing whatever it was he did at night; meditation or sleep, Dean wasn't sure. He went to his bed and picked up the gun from under the pillow. He checked the clip and then walked out and into Sam's room. He clicked the door closed quietly and turned the key in the lock in case Castiel heard something before it was over.

Sam was sleeping on his side in the middle of the bed, and Dean perched on the side and set Castiel's letter on the bedside table. He took a moment just to look at his brother. He looked peaceful in a way he never did when awake. Happy almost. Dean wondered whether he was with Jessica in his dreams.

Dean hoped that he and Sam would be together after this, sharing their heavens with Sam back to himself, but he couldn't be sure. Perhaps what he was about to do would cancel out the good he'd done in his life. He might have Hell again. As long as Sam had his heaven, Dean could deal with anything.

He raised the gun and drew a shaky breath. The sound was soft, but it broke through to Sam. His eyes opened and he looked momentarily shocked. Then he spotted the gun in Dean's hand and his expression softened into what looked like hope.

"You have to, Dean," he said pleadingly. "Please, let me go."

Dean brushed tears from his face. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I should have saved you."

"This is saving me. I will be free again."

Dean nodded and raised the gun and aimed it at Sam. He would shoot him first and then himself. Only then would it be over. He clicked off the safety and stared into Sam's happy face and he started to pull the trigger.

Suddenly, there was a flutter and his hand was yanked upwards. His finger completed its movement on the trigger and the gun discharged into the ceiling.

"Stop, Dean!" Castiel shouted as Sam cried out, "No!"

Dean fought against him, trying to bring the gun down again, and then he heard a voice that froze him. "What the hell do you think you're doing!"

Dean turned toward the voice, his eyes wide. Bobby stood across the room and he was glaring at Dean with the kind of anger only he could manage.

"No," Sam moaned, reaching for the gun. He pulled it from Dean's slack hand, and raised it to his head.

Castiel acted faster that Dean could have believed. He ripped the gun from Sam's grip and released the clip then threw it across the room even as he brought two fingers to Sam's temple and sent him into unconsciousness.

"Stop!" Dean shouted. "You have to let me do this."

"No," Castiel snapped. "I will not let you do this because of me. You will not leave me behind."

Dean gaped at him, trying to make sense of what was happening, but Castiel was reaching for him. Before Dean could say more than, "Cas…" he was falling back against Sam's legs, unconscious.

* * *

 **So… He reached that point. Poor Dean. There will be much discussion in the next chapter and some truths at last.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	23. Chapter 22

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for fixing this up for me.**

 **This weekend's chapter is coming out a day early as it's a special person's birthday. All send love to Ncsupnatfan. She's awesome and deserves all the good things. Happy Birthday hon xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twenty-Two**_

When Dean woke, he was confused. He was lying on a bed with his cheek resting on a pillow and a blanket draped over him. He blinked and tried to clear his mind, but everything seemed vague, as if he had been sleeping a lifetime. The window was filled with light, and he wondered how long he'd been out.

When he sat up and looked around, he realized he wasn't in his own bedroom; he was in Sam's, and he was alone.

He rubbed a hand over his face and tried to feel his way though the confusion to his last memories. They came at him in a rush of understanding, and he groaned. Sam in the lake. The pen in his hand as he wrote the suicide note. Sam's pleading face as Dean pointed the gun at him, needing him to do it. Castiel taking the gun. Bobby's face, his anger. Sam's defeat as the gun was taken from him, as Dean's plan failed. Castiel's words: "I will not let you do this because of _me_."

Dean didn't even care that Castiel apparently knew who he was now. His mind was completely filled with Sam. It was supposed to be over. Sam was going to be free and Dean at peace, having finally given Sam what he needed. Now Dean had lost his mind, too. He was never going to be able to save Sam. There was no other reason for him to be seeing Bobby. The strain of everything that had happened to them had broken him at last. It was finally too much for him. They were both ruined now.

He knew he needed to find Sam, to make sure he was okay under what was Castiel's probably shoddy care. He stood and walked to the door. It was closed, and he was worried it was locked, but when he turned the handle it opened. He went into the hall and checked the other two bedrooms, but they were both empty. He carried on down the stairs and only then heard Castiel's voice. It wasn't the one he wanted and needed to hear, and it was saying words that were all wrong.

"Look at me, Sam. I need you to look and see me, please. Just–"

It cut off as Dean came down the stairs, and when Dean reached the first floor, he saw Castiel watching him guardedly. He definitely knew the truth. It was written all over his guilty face.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he said.

Dean looked past him to Sam. He was staring blankly into the empty fireplace. He seemed oblivious to Castiel's presence and Dean's arrival.

"It is Lucifer?" Dean asked, surprised that his voice was even.

"I don't think so. He has been like this since he woke up," Castiel said regretfully. "He never seemed to come back fully. I can't reach him."

"Why would you?" Dean asked, crossing the room and sitting down beside Sam. "He's not going to come back for you. He needs me."

Castiel nodded his agreement, not that Dean cared; his focus was on Sam.

"Sammy," he said, touching his arm. "Look at me, man. I'm here."

Sam blinked but that was the only change. The movement was a reflex and that was all.

"Sam?" Dean waited hopefully for a response and when there was none he picked up Sam's hand and dug his fingernail into the nailbed of Sam's index finger. Sam didn't shy away from the pain, pull his hand back or even flinch in reaction. He just sat unmoving. He was really gone. He'd given up. He wasn't the only one. Dean had given up everything, including his own mind.

With a shaky breath, he set Sam's hand back in his lap and turned to Castiel, his indifference to the angel becoming anger. "Are you happy now?"

"No!" Castiel said, sounding horrified. "I never wanted this."

"You do remember then, what you did to him?"

"I remember it all. I know what I did to you, to Sam, and to the world. I am so sorry."

Dean shook his head briskly. Castiel had no idea what it meant to be sorry. "You think that matters? Sam was sorry after Lilith, but you didn't give him an inch of forgiveness. You blamed him and you made sure he knew it. You called him the abomination. What you did was worse. Sam thought he was saving the world."

"So did I," Castiel interrupted.

"Maybe. But Sam didn't purposefully tear anyone apart to do it. You knew what you were doing when you ripped the wall down. You knew what it would do to him. You made a choice to hurt him. You were family. We would have done anything for you, but you ran off with a demon. You didn't learn from Sam's mistakes. You used them and the consequences to break him instead."

"I am so sorry."

Dean was growing angrier by the moment. Castiel said the word like it meant something. It was too late for apologies.

"Sorry means nothing. Look at him. See what you have done to him. He's gone now. I don't know if he's locked in there with Lucifer or if he's just given up completely, but either way he's not here with me." Dean shook his head bitterly. "How long have you known? How long have you been pretending? Lying to us again?"

Castiel looked unabashed. "Since the demon at the cabin. When I killed it, I remembered it all. It was suddenly there in my mind. I am so–"

Dean held up a hand to silence him. "It's just words, Castiel. Sam needs more than words."

"I have been trying. I have tried to bring him back so many times. He's just not there to me. There is nothing I can do for him anymore."

"I know," Dean said. "I knew that before. That's why I took the gun into his room. I was going to put us both out of our misery. You ruined that, and now you have ruined me, too. I'm crazy now! Are you happy?"

"You're not crazy, Dean. You were desperate. You could see no other choice, and you made a mistake. But it didn't work. You are both still alive."

"I'm not talking about that. Making that decision was the only sane thing I had left to do. What makes me crazy is that I saw Bobby!" He spat the words as an accusation, to shock him and make him see what he had done.

"So did I," Castiel said. "Bobby was there."

"What?" Dean asked blankly.

He looked at a spot past Dean's shoulder. "Ask him yourself."

Dean turned so fast his neck cricked. His eyes came to rest on his surrogate father and he sucked in a breath. He was really there.

"Bobby?" he asked in a breathy voice.

"About damn time you woke up," he said irritably. "We've got things to talk about."

"But you're dead," Dean said stupidly.

"Yes, and you're not. I think you maybe owe Cas some thanks for that, don't you?"

Dean just stared at him. He wasn't thanking Castiel for anything. He was the one that had done this to them. Had it not been for Castiel, he would never have been driven to that point in the first place. Sam would never have been so completely broken. Instead of giving unneeded thanks, he focused on Bobby, seeing what he had missed before.

"You're a ghost."

"Glad you haven't lost all your intelligence without me," Bobby said, satisfied. "Yes, I'm a ghost."

"How?"

"I stuck around."

"But you can't have. We burned your bones."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "I gave my reaper the slip. I figure I'm tethered to something you've got. Might be a good idea to work out what it is before you go anywhere; I don't want to be left behind."

Dean shook his head as he tried to make sense of his thoughts. How could Bobby be here and he not realize before?

"Why would you do that?" he asked. "Stay? You were done, Bobby."

"I wasn't done. Unless you've been keeping the kill a secret, Dick Roman is still out there and he needs to be dealt with. My work wasn't over. Neither is yours, a fact you seem to have forgotten lately. I'm here now though, you've finally got your head out of the sand and are seeing me, so we can get to work. "

Dean looked from Bobby to Sam who was still staring blankly into the empty fireplace. "Work?"

"Yes, Dean," Bobby said with a tone of forced patience. "That saving the world thing you used to care about. Now that you can see me we can plan. Obviously you're working alone with Sam the way he is right now, but I think you can still pull off enough Winchester magic to take care of it. You need to get to Annie and the others and see what they've got."

"Sam," he said slowly, only the mention of his brother reaching him. "How long has he been seeing you, Bobby?"

Bobby looked exasperated. "Does it matter?"

"It does to me."

"Since the accident. After I died, I spent some time trapped in the veil until I got strong enough to leave it. I was dragged around after you and Sam for a while, and then Sam had his accident and when he woke up he could see me. I think whatever happened to his brain opened him up somehow. He could see me and hear me, but I couldn't get through to him enough to have him explain it to you. That knock on the head really scrambled his eggs."

Dean's eyebrows rose to his hairline. "That knock on the head was a traumatic brain injury, Bobby. He was ill, Bobby; he still is."

"He's something," Bobby said, casting Sam a quick glance and then fixing his intense gaze on Dean. "So you've got to pick up the slack."

Dean couldn't believe how Bobby was acting, how callous he was being about Sam's plight. It was like he didn't even care. Like he didn't see what Sam was going through… An idea occurred to Dean, a hateful, horrible idea, and he looked at his old friend. "Sam has been seeing you all this time," he said. "It was always you?"

"Yes," Bobby said. "What's that got to do with anything?"

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, pushing down his anger to ask the question he needed answered. "So you told him about Jess?"

Bobby blew out an exasperated breath and Dean heard the unspoken answer. Bobby had done this to Sam. He remembered the horror of that moment in Alfie's office, as Sam begged an unseen Bobby to stop the words that were tearing him apart. The agony in Sam's eyes as he learned the truth and the way he had shut down after.

"Why would you do that?" he asked in a dangerous voice.

Bobby looked angry. "Why? Why do you think, Dean? He needed to know. The pair of you were living in a bubble with those folks, and you needed to snap out of it. Sam was the reason you were there, so I did what I could to get through to him. He was stuck on Jess, so I told him the truth. He needed a push and I gave it."

Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. Bobby would never have been so cruel before, or so stupid. Sam's situation wasn't something you could 'snap out of'. He was ill, injured. It was ridiculous, and the Bobby Dean knew would have known that before.

He looked at Castiel and saw his brow was creased with confusion as he looked at Bobby, as if he was trying to see something more that his outward appearance.

"You tried to 'snap him out' of a traumatic brain injury," Dean said. "Are you kidding me? He was ill, Bobby. He couldn't heal himself no matter what he was told or how hard he tried. It was a physical injury that needed time and care to heal. All you did was…" He shook his head as he drew what was supposed to be a calming breath. "You broke him! You stole the little peace he had from him. I was there. He begged you to stop, and you didn't. What were you thinking? Were you being intentionally cruel?"

"I was thinking there was work for him to do," Bobby said dismissively. "I thought he could handle it. If he knew what was at stake, what had happened, he would have at least told you to get on with what he couldn't. Sam wouldn't put himself before the rest of the world. I thought if he knew what was at stake, it would help. If he could have told you to go, this whole thing could have been taken care of. Dick Roman would have been killed already, and then you could have focused on helping Sam."

"He couldn't handle it," Dean said. "You ruined him."

"I see that now," Bobby said impatiently. "I thought he'd do better. It's not my fault he's like this."

"You did this to him!" Dean shouted. "You ruined him because of your own damn need for revenge."

"I did it for the world," Bobby argued.

"It's being taken care of! Annie and the others are working the problem. It's not down to us to save the world this time. It's our job to save each other!"

"There's more important things," Bobby said. "Annie is good, but she's not got what you and Sam have. Garth is an idiot, and Frank is one bad dinner away from taking off and leaving them to do it alone. They need you, Dean, and you know it."

That wasn't true though. It wasn't down to him and Sam. The others had more help than they'd ever had before. There was a lot of them working as a team. They would fix it while Dean did the right thing for Sam for a change. The Bobby he had known would have understood that. This ghost wasn't the real him. Bobby had loved Sam.

"Don't you care?" he asked. "Don't you see what you've done to Sam?"

"I'm not blind, Dean. I'm sorry for what's happened to him. But I can see past it to what needs to be done. Now, you need to take Sam back to those people you were living with and let them take care of him. You and I both know they'd be happy to do it. Then you and Cas can go team up with the others and save the damn world."

Dean shook his head. "I can't leave him, Bobby. He needs me."

Bobby threw up his hands. "Look at him, Dean. He doesn't need you. He needs professional help. You've been trying to take care of him since the wreck and look where it's led you. He's a wreck himself now, and the world is still ending. Put aside what you want and do what you should for a change. Sam's useless right now, I've accepted that he's going to have to take a knee, but you're not. They need you and you're going to do it for the rest of the world. Understand?"

"Useless…" How could Bobby be so cruel? He could see nothing past what he wanted and needed. He didn't see that Sam and Dean needed him, too. Bobby was a ghost; that was incredible. Dean wished he had peace, but the fact he was here should have been a comfort. They should have been working together to save Sam. Dean shouldn't have to be arguing for the right thing against the man that loved Sam like a son.

"Yes, useless," Bobby said. "I'm sorry for it. I regret my part in it, but I know what has to happen now. Sam isn't the priority anymore."

But he was. The one time Dean put the world before Sam, when he'd not stopped him taking the dive with Lucifer, it had been the worst mistake of his life. The world had been saved, but Sam had been ruined by it. Sam had to come first. The Leviathans were being taken care of. Sam needed Dean, now more than ever thanks to Bobby and what he had done. He couldn't handle this new Bobby on top of everything else. He should have stayed dead.

Dean stood up and walked to the fireplace. There was a set of fireplace tools on a rack there, and he picked up the iron poker.

Bobby laughed harshly. "You're not going to use that, Dean. I know you. And you know I'm right. Set Sam aside for once and focus on what matters."

Dean rushed at him and swung the poker though the air, swiping at Bobby and dispersing him like smoke. He disappeared and Dean lowered the poker, panting hard.

"Dean," Castiel said quietly.

Dean had no idea if he was going to attempt to comfort him or support Bobby's words, but he didn't want to hear it. He had suffered enough disappointment from his friends in the past twenty-four hours. He didn't want more.

He marched away without a word and up the stairs to the second floor. He went into his bedroom and grabbed his duffel from the dresser. He upended it on the bed and searched through the clothes. The hipflask was in a tangle of shirts, and he pulled it free. If Bobby was tethered to something of his, it was this. It had been a part of Bobby, which was why he had taken it in the first place. He had wanted to feel that his friend was close. Now he wanted him far away from himself and Sam.

He stamped down the stairs and through the living room, casting an order for Castiel to look after Sam over his shoulder as he passed.

When he got outside, he drew a breath of the fresh air and them marched across the yard to the dock. He walked to the very end and then stared out at the water that had almost stolen Sam from him. He drew back his arm and lobbed the flask into the water. It splashed as it landed and sank down, creating ripples that came all the way to the dock, lapping at the supports.

Bobby was gone. Dean had to take care of Sam now.

* * *

 **So… That was pretty brutal. This was not how Bobby was going to be in the outline. I think I was scared to make him this harsh as I love his character. It had to happen though. It was the only way it made sense in the end.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	24. Chapter 23

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for the fab beta job. Thank you Gredelina1 for all your help and support. And thank you all for reading this far. We're almost at the end of this particular journey now, and I'm grateful for you all sticking with me.**

 **There is a plea for help at the bottom of the chapter so, if you're so inclined, read on after the chapter ending.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twenty-Three**_

Unable to be in the cabin with Sam and Castiel but unwilling to leave them, Dean wandered through the trees around the place, eventually coming to a fallen tree. He sat down and buried his face in his hands. He wanted to roar out his pain, but Castiel would surely hear and come to interfere, leaving Sam alone. He couldn't have that. Sam needed care, even if it was from Castiel. Dean just needed space to feel the horror of what was happening without being watched and judged. He needed to work out what happened next.

The obvious thing to do was to make the same choice he had the night before. Take him and Sam out of the game and let them both have some peace finally. That was impossible with Castiel though. There was no way he'd leave them dead. He was arrogant and stupid enough to think he knew best. He'd never suffered the same way Sam and Dean were, so he didn't understand that sometimes to admit defeat and let go was the answer.

Without that avenue open to them, Dean had to think of other ways to cope. The priority was Sam, and the way he was now meant real care, not just emotional. He was going to have to take him back to Alfie and Elsie. They would live there together again. Dean would learn how to take care of this new version of Sam. With Alfie and Elsie there to help, he would be able to cope. He would make Sam's life as good as it could be. Though what quality there would be if he was unaware of what was happening around him now, he didn't know. Worse, what if it wasn't just that Sam had shut down? What if he was seeing Lucifer while he sat there, silent and motionless? How could he improve that even a little?

He shook his head as he thought of their future—Sam a shell and Dean his caretaker. How were they going to live like that? What kind of misery was he bringing down on Alfie and Elsie by making them a part of it?

There was no other choice though. He would send Castiel away. They didn't need him anymore; he had proved he couldn't help Sam through this. He could go to Annie and the others and help them. Bobby would get one thing he wanted at least. They could take care of Dick Roman, avenging him. He at least would be happy. Dean would be living his tormented life, his punishment for not saving Sam from Lucifer before it could go so wrong. There was no worse fate for him than to lose Sam, and he had now. He could perhaps have handled it if it didn't come at the cost of Sam's peace, too.

His plans made, Dean stood and walked back toward the cabin to put them into action. He would have Castiel take them to Oregon, his last favor before he disappeared. When Sam was settled, Dean would come back for the car. He would need that later.

He drew a breath before going into the cabin, preparing himself for what he was about to face.

Castiel must have heard him coming, as Dean was sure he wouldn't have spent the time he was away in silence, but no one was speaking a word when he went in, even though there was a third presence in the room now. Bobby was back.

"What do you think you're doing here?" Dean asked him.

Bobby raised his arms at his sides. "What I've been doing all along: helping."

"It wasn't the flask then?" Dean was disappointed. He would have to find whatever else it was Bobby was tethered to and get rid of it.

"Of course it was." He gestured to the table where his hip flask was. "I got it back."

Dean turned betrayed eyes on Castiel. "You went and got it for him?" He couldn't believe Castiel would do that. Didn't he realize how pissed Dean was at him already? Didn't he see that bringing Bobby back to them was another gross betrayal?

"No!" Castiel said defensively. "I haven't left Sam for a moment. Bobby did it himself."

Dean frowned. "How?"

"Freshwater lake," Bobby said smugly. "I went swimming."

"Great," Dean said sarcastically. "You can take it with you and disappear now. We don't need your kind of help, thanks."

"Of course you don't. You Winchesters don't need anyone's help. You do such a good job alone. Look how well you're doing right now. Sam's in the best of health and you're handling it all so well."

"Do you think that's helpful?" Castiel asked him irritably.

"Sam's like he is because of you!" Dean snarled. "You did this to him because of your damned need for revenge. You broke him."

"I know what you think," Bobby said. "And I'm trying to fix him now. I can see you're not going to be doing anything useful until he's taken care of, so I've got a plan. Face it, Dean; you need me. I am the only one with an idea of how to help him."

Dean threw himself down onto the couch beside his immobile brother and reached for his hand. He pinched the bed of his fingernail again, almost sure he would react this time, to prove Bobby wrong as he would know how much Dean needed him to. He didn't though, and Dean's heart sank all over again.

"That's not going to work, Dean," Bobby said. "He doesn't need more pain. He's already got enough of that."

"Shut up," Dean snapped.

"Are you really so damn stubborn that you won't hear me out? You and Cas are useless, and you know it. You've spent so long angsting over stuff that's already happened that you're not paying attention to what happens next."

Dean knew what happened next though. More of the same. He and Sam were going to continue to suffer without release because Castiel wouldn't cut them a break.

"You're not helping him," Bobby accused.

Dean's anger built. He had done nothing but try to help. He had wanted to curl up and give up after some of the blows he'd had lately, but he had fought for Sam. He hadn't given up. What had happened the night before didn't count as giving up either. It was admitting defeat and trying to end it as gently for Sam as he possibly could, to put him out of his misery. That was stolen from them now, so he was going to take care of his brother as best as he could.

"I have done everything," he growled.

"Then I guess we should give up now then," Bobby said. "If you've done _everything._ How long do you think it's going to take Sam to starve to death like this? No, hang on, he'll die of dehydration first won't he? I'm sure that's a peaceful way to go."

Dean's hands fisted. That it was Bobby saying these things made it so much worse. He was supposed to love them. How could he have become so twisted?

"Throw a punch if you like," Bobby said sarcastically. "It's so easy to hurt a ghost, after all. I don't see any salt rounds here, but you'll find a way. I'll wait here nice and patient for you to get it out of your system. Maybe you'll be ready to listen by the time I get back."

"I think we should listen to him, Dean," Castiel said quietly. "You and I are at a loss, and he seems to have some idea. It might work."

"Thank you, Cas," Bobby said gratefully. "Some sense at last. You listening now, Dean?"

"Fine. Say what you've got to say and leave. Just make sure you don't come back again."

Bobby shook his head, his expression frustrated. He recovered himself and said, "Sam is like this because of Jessica."

"No, he's like it because of _you_ ," Dean interrupted.

Bobby ignored him. "He thinks this, the real world, is fake and his memories real, that Jessica is waiting for him out there."

"Yes," Castiel said when Dean remained silent.

He wasn't ignoring Bobby. He was taking it all in and waiting for the solution so he could discredit it and get back to taking care of Sam. He wasn't discrediting it because it came from Bobby. It was the fact Bobby had proved he didn't have the first idea of what Sam needed that made him sure it was pointless.

"Basically, he's forgotten what happened to her," Bobby went on. "So what if we make him remember?" He looked at Castiel. "That's something you can do, right?"

"Yes," Castiel said thoughtfully. "I could bring the memories to the fore again." He turned to Dean. "I can make Sam remember her death, show him what happened from his own perspective."

"That could ruin him," Dean said. "This whole problem started when Bobby told him she was dead. What will happen to him if we make him see it all again?"

"Do you really think it could get worse?" Bobby asked.

Dean ignored him again. "It will hurt him, Castiel. We can't make him hurt again."

Castiel's lips pressed into a thin line as he considered. "I don't think he can hurt more," he said carefully. "But I do think this could work. If nothing else, it's worth trying."

Dean looked at Sam. The idea that he could come back was exhilarating, but the thought of making him go through that trauma again was abhorrent. Would he be able to handle it? He didn't think he could take that responsibility, not for Sam's mind. Though Bobby had a point. Could it really get worse?

"There is another option," Bobby said slyly.

"What?" Dean asked, no hostility in his voice now, just a need to hope.

"We take it all away," Bobby said. "We wipe it like Cas did Lisa and Ben. Take her out of his mind completely."

"Would that work?" Dean asked, looking at Castiel.

"In a way," Castiel said carefully. "I could take the experience of Jessica from his mind. There would be consequences though. It wouldn't just be Jessica that was lost."

Dean tensed. "What else?"

"Everything. Sam's experiences since Jessica are intrinsically linked with you, Dean. He started hunting again because of it. I would have to take every trace that could trigger him."

Dean froze. "Wipe me?" he whispered.

"Yes," Castiel said apologetically. "He would have to forget you completely. Hunting would be a risk to recollection, and you are hunting to him; his childhood is hunting. I can't actually wipe these things like a chalkboard. I have to bury them in his own mind. Too strong a recollection of before could bring them back to mind. You would be the strongest trigger, Dean. It would all have to go."

"Give him a blank slate," Bobby said, nodding.

"You can't think I'll let you do that," Dean said.

He couldn't be lost to Sam. They were their memories. A whole life forged together was not going to be stuffed away. Sam would have no sense of self. He would be an amnesiac drifting through life trying to find himself again. "He'd have nothing left."

"That's not quite true," Bobby said. "He could go live with that couple you were staying with. They'd help him build a new life. They were good people, and you know they wouldn't mind. Sam could be happy with them."

"He wouldn't have me though," Dean said.

"No, he wouldn't," Bobby agreed, "but he'd have a life."

"What about Lucifer?" Dean asked Castiel. "Can you wipe him, too?"

"No. I wish I could. I would have done it long ago if it would work. Sam's experience is such a deep part of him, I could never find it all. And even a scrap of memory left would open the others. It's just not possible."

"So you can wipe me, his own brother, but not that?"

Castiel looked apologetic. "Sam has only had you in his life thirty years. He had almost two centuries of the Cage and Lucifer."

Dean hated the idea that Lucifer had more of Sam's life than he could ever have. It was wrong. They were brothers. Their lives were together. Lucifer was a monster. How could he be more entrenched in Sam's mind than Dean?

"Think about it, Dean," Bobby said. "Sam can start a new life and you can get back to your old one. You can join the others taking down Dick Roman. You can save the world again. That's what you're best at. That's your mission."

"No," Dean said dully. "I am not a hunter first. I am a brother. My mission is Sam, and it has to stay that way. The others will take care of Dick. I will take care of Sam."

"The mission is the Leviathans!" Bobby said angrily. "It's more than Sam; it's the whole world."

"No," he said again. "The others will take care of it. The hell with the Leviathans and the fight. I have given too much to it already. I will not give Sam up again."

He couldn't. He had lost him to the Cage and that had ruined him. He would not do it again. He would stay at Sam's side and protect him, because that was what he needed to do. He was a brother first. He would not forget that again.

"Then what will you do?" Bobby asked. "If you don't care about the world, if Sam matters so much more, what are you going to do for him?"

Dean looked at Castiel. "You can make him remember it: Jess dying?"

"Yes. It would be easy. It's just bringing a memory to the fore."

Dean had to do it. This was the only chance he had to get Sam back and keep him. Anything else would be to lose him. Then a complication occurred to him. "What about Lucifer?" he asked. "Will messing with his memories shake him loose, too? Sam told us he was seeing through the cracks when he was first seeing Lucifer. If we do this, would it break down whatever little protection he has left?"

"He can handle it," Bobby said.

Dean glared at him. "You are the last person that should be talking about what Sam can and can't handle"

"It wouldn't happen anyway," Castiel said. "I will be reaching only for a fixed moment in time, Jessica's death. That is not linked to the Cage or Lucifer. It came before. Whatever minimal protection Sam has will remain intact."

"This will hurt him so much." Dean was talking to himself, but Bobby answered.

"So would shooting him, but you planned on doing that last night."

"That's enough, Bobby," Castiel said firmly.

Dean felt no gratitude for him intervention. He felt nothing but despair as he was faced with this impossible choice. Hurt Sam or lose him. How was he supposed to decide? He knew what he wanted, but that was about himself. What would Sam want?

"Dean, do you want to do this?" Castiel asked.

"I don't know," he said. "I need some advice."

"What do you think I've been giving you?" Bobby asked disparagingly.

"I need it from someone I trust," Dean said, glaring at him. "I'll come right back. You'll watch him, Cas?"

"Of course."

Dean patted Sam's shoulder then stood and picked up his phone from the table. He walked outside to the dock. He sat down on the chair he'd brought out for Sam and stared across the lake. His mind was reeling, and he needed something to ground him and help him make the choice. He needed a mother's advice, as he could only think as a brother, and that was a selfish love.

He dialed the number, relieved that it was Elsie that answered. _"Hello?"_

"It's me."

" _Dean! Oh thank goodness. I was so worried. Alfie wouldn't say anything, but he's been like a cat on a hot tin roof since you spoke to him last night. He barely slept. Are you okay?"_

"I'm getting there," Dean lied. He had never felt farther from okay in his life. "And it's you I need to speak to. I need help."

" _Of course. Whatever you need. You know that. Tell me what's troubling you."_

"There might be a way to help Sam. Actually, there's two. They both scare me, and I can't decide whether I'm being selfish or not."

" _What are they?"_

"Castiel can do something to wipe what's happened from Sam's memory. He wouldn't remember losing Jess, it would take it all away."

" _That sounds perfect. What's the catch?"_

"It would wipe me, too. He would never be able to remember me, not even a trace. I would never have existed to him. Nothing would. He would have no memories at all. He'd have to start from scratch."

" _I see. And what's the other idea?"_

"That we make him remember. He would have to know about Jess dying, see it all again, and feel it. It might break through what's happening to him now." He closed his eyes for a long moment. "He's even worse now, Elsie. He's catatonic. He doesn't talk, move or show any sign that he's there at all. It's like being with a breathing corpse. He gives nothing back."

He heard a shaky breath drawn and when she spoke Dean thought he could hear the tears in her voice. _"I am so sorry."_

"Yeah, me too."

" _And the options are to hurt him or let him go?"_

"Yes, and I don't know which to choose."

" _Which do you want more?"_

"I think you know," he said.

" _You want Sam back. Of course you do. Who wouldn't? Do you think he can handle remembering? Would it heal or make him worse? Can you handle it?"_

"I don't think it can get worse for me anymore. I don't know if it will help, and it will definitely hurt him; it might just make what he's feeling worse, even if we can't see it. I want him back though."

" _Then I think your choice is made, Dean,"_ she said gently. _"You know whichever you choose, we will do anything we can for you both. If Sam has a clean slate, he will have a home here as long as we do. If he remembers but nothing changes, we will take care of him and you can stay or go as you need. Alfie will know what to do for him, and I will help as much as I can."_

"I know you will," Dean said. "It just feels like too much responsibility for me to take on for his mind. I could make him suffer even more."

" _You know, I read those books more times than I can count, and I then I had a chance to get to know the real you, too. One of the most important things I learned is that you are not afraid of responsibility. When it comes to Sam, you take the world on your shoulders. Why are you doubting yourself now?"_

"I'm scared," Dean admitted. "I don't want to hurt him."

" _If you could ask him, what do you think he would choose? Would he risk more hurt in order to save himself, or would he rather lose you?"_

"I don't know."

" _Yes, you do. I know, so you must. Sam would take pain for you. He would never want to let you go. You have to do what you can to keep him as that is what he would choose."_

Dean breathed a sigh of relief as he realized she was right. His choice had already been made in his heart. It was his head that needed convincing. Sam wouldn't want to lose himself. He was a hero and he deserved to remember that.

"I'm doing it," he said, confident now. "I'll let him remember."

" _Good. Go do it then. Don't make him suffer alone longer than he must. Call me as soon as you can and tell me how you are, but take time for Sam, too. He's going to need you, Dean."_

"Thank you, Elsie."

" _You are very welcome. Now go."_

They exchanged quick goodbyes and Dean tucked the phone in his pocket as he stood. He walked quickly back into the house and went straight to Sam. There was no change in him but much in Dean. He was cautiously hopeful now.

"You've decided," Bobby stated.

Dean nodded. "I'm going to let him remember. I can't let him lose everything. He's a hero and he can't lose that to be an amnesiac searching for himself the rest of his life."

"Good," Bobby said, satisfied. "Get on with it then, Cas."

"Wait!" Dean held up a hand. He sat down beside Sam again and squeezed his hand in hopes of drawing his attention, even if there was no outward sign of it. "Sammy, Cas is going to do something for you now. It's going to hurt, but it might be better after." That was a partial lie. It would be better for Dean perhaps but not for Sam. He was going to suffer Jessica's death all over again. "It's going to help, Sam. I need you to be strong though. You've got through this before. You can do it again. Understand?" Sam gave no response, and Dean closed his eyes a moment to brace himself. When he felt strong enough, he opened his eyes and looked at Castiel. "Okay, do it."

Castiel didn't ask if he was sure, he didn't question at all; he just nodded and said, "I'll need space."

Dean stood up and walked a little back, close enough to reach Sam when he needed him, but far enough away to let Castiel work.

Castiel bent in front of Sam and laid his hand on his temple. He closed his eyes and concentrated as the light began to spill from his hand.

Dean watched nervously, waiting for a change, and then it came and he felt sick.

Sam's eyes widened and his expression morphed into tortured shock. "No!" he gasped. "No!" He brought up an arm as if shielding his face and cried out. "Jess! No! No!"

"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean said, horrified but unable to look away as Sam relived the moment of his lover's death.

"Jess! Jess! No!" The words broke into a howl of pain and Dean flinched at the raw pain in him.

Castiel stepped back and said, "It's done."

It was done but it wasn't over. Sam was panting through his pain, his expression agonized. Dean wanted to reach for him, but he was afraid to move.

When Sam bowed over with his arms hugged around himself and began to sob, Dean rushed to his side and wrapped his arm around his shoulders. "It's okay," he soothed. "Just let it go, Sammy. You can do this."

Sam began to moan in pain and he shuddered under Dean's arm. Dean felt tears burning his own eyes, and when he blinked they slipped down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he said. "I am so sorry."

Sam moaned and the sound made Dean's heart ache. "She's gone."

"She is," Dean said regretfully.

But Sam was back. His brother was broken by the pain of his loss, and his pain was Dean's, but a part of him couldn't help but be grateful. Sam had lost the woman he loved all over again, but Dean had his brother back. He didn't know what would happen next, but he was speaking again, feeling, and that was something he hadn't thought he'd have again.

Sam's moans tapered away, and he began to draw breaths through his nose as he tried to calm himself. Gradually, he settled and with a cough to clear his throat, he straightened up.

He looked terrible, wrecked still, but there was animation in his face, even if it was pain, that made Dean feel better.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he said.

Sam shook his head. "It's okay."

It wasn't. It couldn't be. He couldn't be. He needed time to get over what happened. Dean would give him that time. He would do whatever he needed him to do.

"How do you feel?" Castiel asked.

Dean glared at him. It was a stupid question when you only had to look at him to see how he was feeling.

"Tired," Sam said. "Empty. You don't need to worry though. I'm really back. I remember now."

"Do you need anything?" Castiel asked.

"Sleep," Sam said. "I just need to sleep a while."

Bobby opened his mouth, but Dean glared at him, daring him to speak and get a salt round in the chest for it. Bobby seemed to see the message as he snapped his teeth together and glowered at Dean but didn't speak.

Sam stood up and walked to the stairs. His shoulders were slumped and his head bowed, and Dean hated to see him walk away like that. "I'll be right here, Sam, if you need me," he said.

Sam stopped with a hand on the rail and looked back at Dean. "I know. Thank you." He turned to encompass Bobby and Castiel in his words. "Thank you all."

That said he walked up the stairs to the first floor. Dean heard him moving across the hall and then the snap of a door closing.

"Thank you, Cas," he said, looking into his friend's shocked eyes. "You saved him."

"And I suppose I had no part in it," Bobby said grumpily.

"You had a big part," Dean said. "And I'm not thanking you for _that_."

He stood and picked up his phone from the table. He needed to put in a call to Elsie and Alfie. He had promised he would tell them what had happened, and he finally had good news to report. Sam was coming back to them. He was hurting perhaps worse than before now, but he was getting there. Given enough time, he would be back properly.

Then they would decide together what to do next.

* * *

 **So… Sam is back. It was a brutal scene to write and explore, but it was important to get what they were feeling clear in my head. I hope it came across on the page.**

 **WANTED:** I am need of a little assistance. Gredelina1 and I have always worked as a team for my stories. I would outline and she would guide/approve/rethink my ideas, and when I was done, she would listen to the chapter and give feedback. She's got far less time on her hands these days so I have been working alone. I am managing better than I thought I would alone, but I really do miss having someone to bounce ideas off of and the feedback for each complete chapter before I move on with the story. I was wondering if any of you would be interested in helping me out as a pre-reader. The job would basically entail you reading the chapters I send you and leaving feedback as an email or in the doc as comments. It would be a lot of work as I write fast (usually a few chapters a week at least) but it would be hugely appreciated. If any of you have some time and are interested in helping me out, drop me a PM and we can chat.

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	25. Chapter 24

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me and Gredelina1 for all your help.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twenty-Four**_

Sam slept so long Dean was worried he had exchanged one kind of absence for another. He checked on him regularly, but Sam seemed to be sleeping peacefully. He had to stow his panic and let Sam take what he needed. He'd been through so much, and rest and space were the least he deserved.

Only when the next morning came around did he start to worry. He wanted to talk to him, to check he was okay and not slipping away. He couldn't wake him for no reason, so he used the excuse of feeding him and began to prepare pancakes to draw him out with.

Bobby was gone again—Dean didn't know (or care) where—leaving Castiel and Dean alone in the kitchen. As Dean mixed the batter, Castiel leaned against the counter watching him.

"Can you hear anything?" Dean asked, spooning the batter into the pan to make the first pancakes.

"I can hear everything," Castiel said. "What in particular should I be listening for?"

"Sam," Dean said. "Is he awake yet?"

"Yes. He is in the shower."

"Does he sound okay?" Dean asked.

Castiel frowned. "I don't want to betray his privacy."

"And I don't want to have to banish you," Dean said. "But I will unless you tell me. This isn't about privacy. It's about me taking care of him. I need to know what's going on because you know damn well he's not going to tell me himself."

"He's crying," Castiel said quietly. "I can hear him saying Jessica's name."

Dean thumped the bowl of batter down on to the counter and sighed. He should have expected it really, Sam wasn't just going to forget her because he knew the truth now, but it still hurt him that Sam was suffering. He wanted to help him, but he had no idea how. He and Sam had their own way of helping each other. More was said by Dean with a look or a simple hug than by him pouring his heart out and offering comfort. Sam was the talker, but would he be still after this? Even if he did want to talk, what could Dean say to him? Should he apologize for his part in everything that had happened, or would Sam not want to think of it again? Could he even stop if he wanted to? Dean wished he knew what to do.

He turned the pancakes and wondered what he was doing. Did he really think breakfast was going to fix anything? Sam did need to eat though. It had been days since he had anything decent, and he had been losing weight before that. He had to start taking care of himself again.

"He's finished now," Castiel said. "He will be here soon."

Finished showering or finished crying for his dead girlfriend? Dean didn't know which he meant and he didn't ask. He plated the cooked pancakes and made more while waiting for Sam to come down and wondered what he would say to him when he did.

The problem was solved for him when Sam came downstairs, his hair still damp from the shower, and walked into the kitchen. He looked at what Dean was doing and asked, "Have we got syrup?"

Taking his cue from Sam, Dean pretended it was any other day, too. "In that cupboard," he said, gesturing with the spatula. "And there's fruit in the fridge."

Sam took out the syrup and placed it on the table then went to the fridge to fill a bowl with fruit. Dean plated the last of the pancakes, turned off the burner, and carried them to the table.

"You want coffee?" he asked.

"I'll get it," Sam said. He took two mugs from the rack and poured then brought them over and sat down.

"Load up," Dean said, pushing over the platter of pancakes.

Sam took two and loaded the rest of his plate with fruit. It was so normal and right that Dean felt hope that perhaps things could be okay after all.

"Where's Bobby?" Sam asked after swallowing his first bite of pancakes.

"You know about him?" Dean asked, stunned.

"He's a ghost," Sam said. "Yeah. Where is he?"

"No idea. He'll probably be back though."

Castiel sat down between them and said. "It takes a lot of energy for a ghost to manifest and he was here a long time yesterday. He will be back, I am sure."

"Great," Dean said sarcastically.

They ate in silence for a while, the only sound the scraping of knives and forks and rise and fall of the coffee mugs. It was only when Dean notice that Sam had paused with a forkful of food raised that he spoke. "Sammy?

Sam was gone again. His eyes were open but vague and his expression lax.

Dean set down his knife and fork and watched his brother, waiting for him to come back. He was gone only a minute before he blinked and his face and eyes became animated again. "Sorry," he said quietly.

"He's still here then?" Dean said, unable to hide his disappointment.

"You didn't really think he'd go, did you?" Sam asked. "It'd take more than getting a memory back to shake him."

Dean sighed. "I'm sorry, Sam."

Sam shrugged. "I've been through worse." He set down his fork and pushed his plate away, picking up his coffee instead.

He had been through worse, Dean knew, and he hated that fact. Sam had been through hell recently, and he still wasn't all the way free of it. Perhaps it was worse for him now. When he'd been confused, he'd had more peace than he had now, thinking Jessica was at least alive. He knew she was gone now, and he knew the depth of their other losses. Coupled with the fact Lucifer was still making his presence known, Sam was doing well to be talking to them at all.

"Why do you shut down when he comes?" Dean asked.

Sam frowned. "I thought you knew already. It's the easiest way to deal with him. If I lock my reactions inside myself, I'm the only one that gets hurt."

"You do it consciously?" Castiel asked.

"I don't need to anymore. It was something I had to focus to do before, but now it's automatic. He comes and I go. It's easier that way."

"Not for you though," Dean said.

"It's no harder. It's bad either way. At least like this you don't have to hear it."

Dean tried not to imagine what he would hear if Sam didn't hide it from him. What did Lucifer do in those moments he was there? Did he just taunt Sam or was he physically hurting him? What was Sam going through while he looked so blank? What did he suffer?

"Doctor Platt thought that was what you were doing," Dean said.

"He's the shrink, right?"

"You remember?" Dean asked, surprised. He'd thought Sam was mostly unaware of what was going on around him in that confused time.

"I remember everything," Sam said. "I remember how it all felt, how hard it was, and how much it hurt." He set down his mug and asked, "Do you want to know?"

Dean considered. He was curious as hell but at the same time he didn't want to push Sam. "If you want to talk, I'm listening," he said.

Sam nodded. "I remember the accident. I fell asleep at the wheel because I was so exhausted. It was only a second, but it was long enough. I remember calling you from the wreck, but after that things got hazy. It was like I spent a lot of time living in a kind of mist. I would try to think but my thoughts would drift away from me. It was hard to talk even, because finding the words seemed to take so much effort. I had brain damage, right?"

"You had a brain injury," Dean corrected.

Sam sighed. "It's the same thing. I was damaged, and I felt it. It was so hard sometimes. I remember liking some stuff too. I remember that little girl and the tree in the garden. They felt good. I remember Alfie and Elise, and I remember thinking it was okay for me to be lost as they were taking care of you." He frowned. "And then I remember Bobby. I forgot about what happened to Jess. I thought she was alive but angry at me maybe, because she didn't come. When I saw Bobby he would talk about how you weren't seeing him, and he'd get pissed. I didn't know he was a ghost. I thought you were just ignoring him. Then he told me about Jess…"

"I'm sorry," Dean said.

"What for?" Sam asked. "Her dying or me not remembering?"

"I'm sorry you were hurt by it."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, me too. But after I knew, it was like the wreck was happening all over again. Things became so much more confused, and I couldn't figure out what was real. It was easier for me to believe nothing around me was real than to accept she was really gone. I threw myself into the delusion and blocked everything I could about the real world. I'm sorry I left you, Dean."

"I understand it," Dean said. "I probably would have done the same thing in your place. I'm glad you're back now though."

"Yeah," Sam said. "Me too." He downed the remains of his coffee and stood up. "I need more. You want some?"

Dean nodded and handed him his mug. He tried to tell himself he was imagining things, seeing trouble where the was none, but he wasn't sure he believed what Sam was saying when he told him he was glad to be back. Dean had a feeling Sam would have preferred to stay lost.

* * *

It was afternoon and Sam had spent the past hour sitting on the dock, staring out at the water. Dean tried not to let his thoughts whirl out of control, but he couldn't forget the sight of Sam's body floating in the water. Unable to relax with Sam so close to the place it happened, he had taken the laptop out onto the porch and sat at a table with it open, pretending to scroll the net while watching his brother covertly.

He didn't want to be like this, so scared all the time, but he couldn't help it. He had seen so much lately that told him Sam needed to be watched to keep him safe. He thought it was going to take a long time for him to get over it. He only hoped Sam could be patient with him while he did.

He was reading a boring news report on a local missing person when he saw Sam move in his peripheral vision. He quickly looked up and was relieved to see Sam walking along the dock towards the cabin. He hoped Sam was coming to him rather than going inside and was pleased when he pulled up a chair at the table.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, fine."

He was obviously not okay, but he seemed calm enough. Dean supposed all his torment was hidden inside now. At least that was what he was trying to do. Dean knew him well enough to see the pain in his eyes.

"Do you need anything?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. I need to talk." He looked back at the door. "Cas, can you come out a minute?"

There was movement and then Castiel appeared in the doorway. He hesitated a moment and then pulled out the chair between Sam and Dean and sat down.

"What's up, Sammy?" Dean asked.

Sam stared at the lake for a moment and then cleared his throat. "I want to thank you both. I know I have put you through a lot lately, especially you, Dean, and that must have been hard, but you didn't give up on me. You found a way to save me from what happened."

Technically it had been Bobby, but Dean wasn't going to give him credit after the things he had done lately. Castiel had been the one to actually save Sam, first healing his brain injury and then helping him remember, and that was what mattered.

"It's what we do," Dean said.

"I know," Sam said with a small smile. "But I'm still grateful. I wouldn't have been able to find a way back myself."

"I am happy I could help," Castiel said. "The situation was of my making. It was my responsibility to make it right."

Sam looked away. Dean was glad he wasn't arguing. Once he would have. He would have told Castiel it wasn't his fault. He would have excused his crimes against him. It seemed what he had suffered at Castiel's hands had quashed that instinct. It was right that it had. Castiel had helped them this time, but the situation was of his making and Dean didn't want him to forget that and make the same mistake again. He wondered if Sam's thanks were genuine though. Did he really feel gratitude to them for making him remember one of the worst moments of his life? Did he see it had been necessary, or did he think the pain caused had outweighed the results?

"We need to talk about what happens next," Sam said.

Dean frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I could hear you talking yesterday, with Bobby. You said the Leviathan situation was being taken care of, something about Annie."

"Yeah," Dean said. "There's a group of hunters led by her and Garth that are working the problem. Frank is with them, too. They're working on a plan."

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "That's good. We need to join up with them though. It is down to us that this has happened, and we need to…"

He trailed off as his eyes became blank and his expression smoothed.

"Dammit," Dean said, banging a fist on the tabletop.

Sam was gone again. No matter how close they got to making things right, Lucifer was still there, a time bomb in Sam's head. It took a lot for him to look away and not glare at Castiel for this reminder of the damage he had done.

Sam came back to himself with a start and wince. "We need to take care of them," he said quietly after a moment of silence.

Dean shook his head. "We can't, Sammy. Look at what just happened to you. I know you want to help, but this time it's not on us. We can't fix it. We need to take care of you."

"How?" Sam asked. "Lucifer isn't going away. There's nothing Cas can do for that. This is my life now, so we have to find a way to work with it. Dick Roman and the others need to be taken out, and we need to do our jobs."

"No," Dean said firmly. "I know what you're thinking because I thought the same thing. Before the accident I was obsessed with Dick Roman and what he had done. I wanted to avenge Bobby and save the world again, but that was before I saw what my distraction could cost me. I should have been saving you, not anyone else. It's being taken care of, so we've got to dedicate ourselves to fixing you."

"How?" Sam asked.

"We've been dealing with this as a human thing lately," he said. "The doctor said you have PTSD, and he was treating you for it. It was complicated because of your injury, but it might be easier now since that's healed. We could go back to him and get help. There's things they can do. Maybe a different medication would work. We have to try."

"But the Leviathans…" Sam started.

"Are not down to us this time. Cas can go help the others, but me and you are going to take care of what we need to. I know you want to help, but no. This time I'm putting you first. Dick Roman is not our problem."

"Not your problem!" a voice snapped behind him.

Dean turned in his chair and saw Bobby marching towards them from across the yard. His face was thunderous and his hands were curled into fists at his sides.

"Bobby," Sam said quietly.

Bobby pointed an accusatory finger at Dean. "Listen to me, Winchester, you're not ducking out on this. It's your responsibility and you will fix it! Sam's got his priorities straight, and it's time you did the same. You will get your ass to Annie and you will do whatever it takes to deal with Dick Roman. You're a hunter. Do your damn job."

"I am a brother," Dean said, his own ire rising in the face of Bobby's.

"No one is disputing that," Bobby said.

"I am a brother _first_. I will not let Sam suffer when they're other people that can do the same job. It is not down to us."

"Dean…" Sam said quietly.

"No," Dean snapped. "I have watched you suffer for months. I almost lost you more than once. I am not going to go through that again for anything. We're fixing you before we go after anything else."

"You will fix it now!" Bobby shouted.

Dean leapt to his feet. "I will not! Sam comes first."

Bobby looked like he wanted to attack. Dean had expected his return though, and he'd known how he would react when faced with the facts, so he had prepared for this.

He bent and picked up the poker where it leant against the wall beside his chair. Without hesitation, he swung the poker through the air, sweeping it through Bobby's chest, making him vanish. Panting, he set the poker down on the table and looked at Sam.

"I mean it, Sam. We're putting you first. When you're back on your feet, we'll take on whatever comes next."

Sam stared into his eyes, seeing the resolve there, and nodded. "Fine. I better get to work then."

"Work?" Dean asked.

"If we're not doing anything 'til I'm fixed, we've got to find a way to fix me," he said, picking up the laptop.

"What are you thinking?" Dean asked.

"Therapy will take too long," he said. "There has to be another way. I am going to find it." He carried the laptop into the cabin, letting the door swing closed behind him.

Dean took a breath and wiped a hand over his face. He felt exhausted and frustrated. Looking up, he saw Castiel's eyes were fixed on him. "Am I right?" he asked, needing reassurance. "It this how it's got to be?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes. This time you need to put yourselves first."

Dean forced a smile. "Thanks, Cas."

Now he just had to hope Sam would be able to find a way.

* * *

Dean jerked awake in the middle of the night and bolted upright. He sat in silence for a moment, listening carefully for what had woken him, and heard a creak from below. He threw back the bedclothes and quickly got up.

While he knew it was probably Castiel moving around now that he didn't need to spend his nights in bed, he was worried it was Sam. His hair-trigger anxiety hadn't eased up yet. He needed to check.

He crept down the stairs to the first floor and saw Sam facing away from him in the kitchen. "Dean," he said without turning.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked.

"Something I've got to do." His voice was strange, measured, as if he was suppressing some emotion.

Dean walked towards him. "Talk to me, Sam. Whatever's going on, we can fix it."

Sam turned to him at last, and Dean saw the blood dripping from his hand to the floor.

"Sammy!" he rushed forward and grabbed a cloth from the counter, reaching to staunch the bleeding. "What are you doing?"

"What I've got to do," Sam said again, pushing away Dean's hand and using the blood to daub on the wall.

Dean looked and saw it was an angel banishing sigil. "Cas!" he shouted. "I need you."

Sam shoved him away, a look of annoyance on his face.

There was a fluttering sound and Castiel appeared. He looked from Dean to Sam and his mouth dropped open. "No! How could you?"

"Goodbye, Castiel," Sam said with a grim smile. He slapped his bloody palm down on the sigil and Castiel was ripped away.

"What's going on, Sam?" Dean asked.

Sam rolled his eyes. "You think you know your brother so well and yet you don't even see it now."

"See what?" Dean asked. "What's happened to you?"

Sam wiped his hand on his pants leg and looked at Dean scathingly. "If you're not going to step up and do your damn job, I will do it for you."

"We're taking care of you," Dean said. "That is our job."

Sam glowered at him. "That's bull and you know it. And here's something else you don't know." He leaned forward with a familiar gleam in his eyes, a gleam that was not Sam's. "I am not Sam."

"Bobby?" Dean guessed.

"Yes."

Dean rushed at him. "Get the hell out of him!"

Bobby picked up a skillet from the stove and swung it at Dean. It collided hard with Dean's temple, and his head exploded with pain. He took another shaky step forward and then fell forward, boneless.

"How could you do this to him?" he asked weakly.

The voice was close to his ear as it answered. "I am saving the world. There's nothing more important than that."

Dean felt another blow land on the same place as the skillet had hit and his eyes fell closed against his will. As consciousness deserted him, he heard the heavy footsteps crossing the room and the door opening as Bobby made his escape.

* * *

 **So… This is not how it was supposed to go. Bobby was going to be his grumpy but basically kind self, but the story took a turn. I hope you can forgive me for doing this to the character we know and love.**

 **Not got a lot to say about this week's episode, but if you want to chat about it, I'll be lurking in my inbox.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	26. Chapter 25

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me. You're an absolute star. Thank you also Gredelina1 for all your support.**

 **Thank you for the responses for to my plea for pre-reader help with the last chapter. My very good friend Ncsupnatfan has joined up with me for my current WIP and she's working her ass off. Seriously. She's pre-read over 50k for me in the last week alone as I have been doing NaNoWriMo and she's been awesome about keeping up with me. The story we're working on now won't be posted for a while, but when it comes, you'll have to thank her too if you like it.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twenty-Five**_

Dean woke with a groan of pain. It felt like his head was splitting in two. Each breath drawn seemed to make it throb harder. Trying to think around the pain was almost impossible. It was only the fact that there was something so important for him to do that allowed him to push it down and focus on what he needed to.

Sam. Bobby was possessing him.

How he could dare do it after everything Sam had been through Dean didn't know. It was final proof of the fact Dean had been trying to deny: Bobby was vengeful now. The man that had possessed his brother hadn't been the man that Dean had loved like a father and who had loved him in return. He was now just another spirit that needed to be taken out. Dean would do it, too. He would save his brother, but he had to find him first.

He struggled to his feet and swayed as he reached for the wall to steady himself. His vision was swimming. Bobby had done some damage when he'd knocked him out. He needed help.

"Cas?" he called. "I need you." He hoped he had been out long enough for Castiel to be able to return. It took a while after being banished for an angel to be able to come back.

When there was no sign of the angel's arrival, he made his way across the room, supporting himself on the walls and furniture to the front door. He had no expectation that the car would still be there, and he had no conviction that he would be able to drive given his current state, but he had to check. He wasn't surprised to see the spot where he'd parked the plastic Impala was empty. Bobby would have needed it to make his escape.

He turned back to the house, muttering Castiel's name again. He knew that, wherever he was, Castiel would be hearing him and being tortured by what he was hearing— Dean's unanswerable need—but he couldn't stop himself.

Knowing he needed to work ahead to find Sam, he took a breath and focused. When Castiel came back, they would need to know where Sam was to be able to get him back. He needed help. He staggered to the table and sat down. The laptop was still open from when Sam had been using it earlier, and it was a simple matter of booting it up and waiting for it to load. When it was ready, he pulled up the phone company's tracking site and then stopped. There was an easier way. He got to his feet and made his shaky way across the room to the stairs and then, gripping the balustrade tightly, he went up to the second floor and into his bedroom.

His phone was beside the bed, charging. He disconnected it and unlocked the screen then brought up the app connected to Sam's seizure band. They'd not taken it off of him, as Dean had been paranoid the seizures weren't completely over. Hopefully Bobby would disregard or forget it. If he took it off, Dean didn't know what they were going to do. He tapped across the menus until he found the tracking option. Closing his eyes and sending up a prayer, Dean tapped the locate button and checked the screen.

Bobby wasn't as smart as he thought he was. Dean could see his tracker moving across the other side of the state, powering along the I-90. Sighing with relief, Dean sat on the bed and pulled on his boots.

"Cas, I've found Sam," he said to the empty room. "He's on the I-90 heading east. As soon as you can, come back and get me. I'll be ready."

He tied his laces and then made his way downstairs again. He needed to arm himself.

The weapons duffels were on the sideboard where he'd left them. He grabbed two sawn-off shotguns and loaded them with salt rounds. They would hurt Sam, but they would be the least damaging option, especially when they had Castiel to heal.

Armed and ready, he was impatient to leave. He could hike into town and steal a car, but he'd never be able to catch up with Bobby. He had to wait for Castiel so he could hop a flight angel air. He downed a couple painkillers and then sat down at the table with the phone in front of him, watching Sam's icon inching its way east.

* * *

It was another endless hour before Castiel arrived, looking ruffled. "I am so sorry, Dean," he said without hesitation. "I wasn't here, and I didn't see what he was going to do. I thought you would be safe."

"It doesn't matter," Dean said. "We need to find him. He's in a place called Albion." He held up the phone for Castiel to see. "Arm yourself and let's go." He held up his own sawn-off and saw Castiel's shock.

"You're going to shoot him?"

"Salt rounds. It's the only thing I can think of. We have to get him out of Sam."

Castiel nodded and picked up the second gun. "Ready?"

Dean nodded and a moment later he felt the swoop in his stomach as he was moved under Castiel's influence. They came to a stop beside a gas station restroom. It was still dark, and very cold. Dean felt a shiver run through him, bringing on a jolt of pain that made him wince.

"You're still hurt," Castiel said in a whisper. "I forgot."

"It's fine," Dean said. "Let's just take care of Sam first."

Castiel wasn't listening though. He pressed a hand to Dean's temple and Dean felt the rush and sting of healing. His head cleared, and the pain disappeared.

"Thanks," he said. "Now, we better move before he leaves again."

He edged around the side of the lot and saw Bobby walking across the forecourt to the car. He was frowning, a familiar expression on Sam's face, and Dean rushed forward without caution. "Bobby!"

Bobby turned and his expression darkened. "Really, Dean. You're going to interfere with this."

"Get out of my brother!" Dean snarled.

"Not until Roman is dead," he said.

Dean raised the shotgun and aimed it at Bobby. "I am warning you, Bobby. Get out of him or I'll shoot."

"You won't hurt Sam like that. I know you too well. You're willing to risk the world for him. You won't do this."

Dean answered by pulling the trigger. Bobby was expelled from Sam with force and he disappeared. Sam dropped to his knees, panting as small wounds blossomed on his stomach. Dean rushed forward, shouting for Castiel. The angel was there in a heartbeat, his hand reaching for Sam and a burst of light passing between his hand and Sam.

"Sam, are you okay?" Dean asked intensely.

Sam nodded and got to his feet. Dean supported him and looked into his eyes. He saw fear and shock mingled in them, and he cursed the fact that Sam had been through yet another thing to give him nightmares.

Dean wanted to comfort Sam, but he knew there were other things he needed to do. The gas station was a small mom and pop place and he could see no signs of security cameras, but he knew they needed to leave.

"Get us out of here, Cas," he said, and a moment later he felt the swoop of movement.

They arrived back in the cabin, and Dean quickly checked Sam over. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Fine. I don't know how it happened. I was sleeping when he woke me up. Before I could ask anything, he was in me. I couldn't stop him."

Dean touched his arm. "It's okay. None of us guessed he'd do something like that. How did he break the tether though?"

"He didn't," Sam said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the hipflask. "He just took it with him."

"Sneaky son of a bitch," Dean said wonderingly, taking it from Sam.

He should have known if anyone was going to try something like that it would be Bobby. He'd underestimated his craftiness. And his cruelty. Sam should never have been put through that.

"We have to stop him," Castiel said. "He cannot go on like this."

"How?" Sam asked.

"We burn this," Dean said. "We have to send him on."

Sam looked stunned. "But it's Bobby."

"Yes, it's Bobby," Dean agreed. "And he's vengeful. I don't want to think about it either, but we have to face the facts. He was willing to kidnap you, Sam, and ride you to Roman in an attempt to kill him. He could have gotten you killed. We have to let him go."

Sam looked away. Dean thought he knew what he was thinking: why did he have to lose someone else he loved? He'd lost so much recently, including himself, and this was another blow.

"It's the only way, Sam," Castiel said gently.

"I know," Sam said quietly. "I'll get the wood."

Dean watched him leave the cabin by the front door, knowing Sam needed space to get through his feelings. He wasn't feeling good about what had to happened either, but he knew it was the right thing. Bobby wasn't the man they'd known anymore. He had to be stopped.

"What do we do about your car?" Castiel asked. "We made a spectacle of ourselves back there. The police are going to be called."

"I'll get hold of Garth," Dean said. "The car is registered to him. He can report it stolen."

Castiel nodded and Dean pulled out his phone. Having Garth take care of the car was the easy part. Letting go of Bobby was going to be much harder.

* * *

Dean stood beside Sam as he stoked the fire in the hearth and added more wood. It was already blazing, but Dean guessed Sam wanted to give himself a little more time before doing what they had to do.

Letting Bobby go wasn't going to be easy. Though he wasn't himself anymore, they didn't know where ghosts went when they died. John Winchester said burning bones was death for ghosts, but what did that mean? What kind of eternity were they giving Bobby?

He couldn't stay though. He was dangerous. He could have put Sam in danger with what he was planning. Sam really could have been killed. He was at the very least traumatized by having his body overpowered by something supernatural again. That was the last thing he needed on top of everything else he'd been through recently.

Sam straightened up and brushed off his hands. "I think it's probably ready," he said quietly.

Dean nodded. "You want me to do it?"

Sam considered a moment and then shook his head. "I'll do it."

Dean knew he was sparing him the guilt of doing it rather than avenging himself, so he stayed silent and just watched as Sam picked up the flask from the coffee table and weighed it in his hand. Sam held it over the flames and his fingers loosened. He was on the point of dropping it, Dean knew, and then a voice spoke behind them and he snatched it back from the fire.

"What the hell are you doing?"

They spun on their heels and Dean saw Bobby standing on the other side of the room. Dean had expected this arrival, and so had the poker ready at his side, but he didn't pick it up straight away. He thought perhaps Bobby might be able to take this with the acceptance he would once have shown.

"We're letting you go," Dean said.

"And if I don't want to be 'let go' of? What then?"

"This is the right thing," Sam said. "You know that."

"I know you're planning on killing me," he said. "How can that be the right thing?"

"You're not you anymore," Dean said. "You've changed. You're dangerous now."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "I wasn't going to let anything happened to him. I just needed a body. The Sam I used to know would have understood that."

"I guess I'm not the Sam you knew anymore. Too much has happened for me to be him."

"That sounds like giving up to me," Bobby said. "Weak talk. You weren't raised to be weak. Not by me or your father."

Dean narrowed his eyes at him as Sam's eyes darkened with sadness. "I'm sorry for what happened to you, Bobby, but this is the only way," he said. "You're not safe."

Bobby glowered. "And that's down to you to decide why?"

"Because we know you better than anyone," Sam said. "Goodbye, Bobby." He turned back to the fire and raised the flask.

Bobby's expression became thunderous and he rushed at Dean. His hands were around his throat in a second, and Dean was trying to breathe through the constriction.

Dean didn't see what happened, but he heard Sam say, "I'm sorry," before the hands around his throat disappeared as Bobby was consumed by fire. Bobby staggered back and Dean saw the betrayal on his face before he was dispersed in orange sparks.

Sam laid a hand on Dean's shoulder and turned him. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Dean nodded and massaged his throat. "Yeah. I'm fine. It's over now."

* * *

Dean was sitting outside, staring out at the lake. The front door was open, and he could hear the click of keys as Sam worked on the laptop. Dean didn't know what he was looking for, but he had been at it for a couple days now, ever since Bobby had gone. Dean was curious, but Sam didn't volunteer the information, so he didn't ask. It was down to Sam when he decided to share. He deserved his privacy after everything he had been through lately.

He was feeling his own torment about Bobby's end. He should have had better. If only he hadn't dodged his reaper. He could have had Heaven and peace instead of whatever it was that he had now. Dean understood in a way, as he had once refused his reaper, too, but he wished Bobby had made a different choice. He could have died and been remembered as a good memory for them, not the vengeful thing he had become. That was no end for a hero like Bobby.

The sound of keys clicking inside cut off, and Dean heard the scrape of a chair against the wooden floorboards. He looked up as Sam came outside, his expression solemn.

"What's wrong?" he asked at once.

"We need to talk," Sam said. "Cas, are you around? Can you come here a minute?"

There was a flutter and Castiel appeared. "I'm here, Sam."

Sam took a seat opposite Dean and Castiel moved to sit between them. Dean had noticed that, since his sojourn as Emmanuel, Castiel was a little more human. He did things he hadn't before, like sit down so they were at the same eye level.

"What do you need?" Castiel asked.

Sam took a breath and then said, "I have been researching PTSD and treatment options."

Dean sat up straighter. "Yeah?"

Sam nodded. "I need to face Lucifer. Right now, he's like a nightmare to me. He's always there, coming whenever he likes to hurt me. I know he's not real, but that's how it feels. It's just my brain though, and I have to stop it."

"How?" Castiel asked.

"There something called exposure therapy," Sam said. "Have you heard of it?"

"I think Doctor Platt mentioned back in the hospital," Dean said. "It's about facing the trauma, right?"

"Yeah. That sometimes means going back to the source of the trauma, literally facing it. If you were in a car accident, they'd put you back in a car. If you were in a shooting, they'd take you back to the location. It's about bringing the memories to the fore and learning to deal with them, taking away the mystery of them and the power of the event. Obviously, I can't go back to the Cage, but I can face what's already there in my head."

"Are you talking about therapy?" Dean asked hopefully. This was good news. If they could go back to Doctor Platt, use his expertise to help Sam find a way to cope, it would be so much better; it might save him."

"In a way. Like I say, Lucifer is always there, at the back of my mind, but I want to bring him to the forefront. The Cage is like a nightmare to me. I remember it in flashes. It's like there's still some protection there. I am talking about taking down the protection and making it all clear to me."

"That sounds incredibly dangerous," Castiel said.

"It's probably is," Sam agreed. "But I think it's the only way. I remember what you were saying when I was… gone. You said you couldn't wipe my hell as it is a part of me. I think so, too. I think it needs to be a greater part of me. Do what you did with Jess. Bring all the memories back. Make me see them. Then I can go to that doctor again with it all clear. He can teach me how to manage it. That's what the case studies I read said worked."

Dean swallowed hard. It sounded dangerous. Sam had been comatose when Castiel broke the wall, and that was Sam seeing through the cracks. What would happen if his head was flooded with his experiences? Dean could lose him all over again. He couldn't bear that.

"It holds huge risks though, doesn't it?" Castiel asked.

"Yes. But I have found nothing else that has a chance of working." He looked at Dean. "What do you think?"

"I think I could lose you," Dean said. "You could be comatose again. You might never wake up this time. After everything we've been through, is it worth risking this?"

"I think so," he said. "I have to save myself. I can't live the rest of my life like this, not without losing my mind. I won't do it unless you agree though. It's both of us that will have to live with what comes after, and I won't do that to you unless you think it's worth it."

It wasn't about it being 'worth it'. It was about what they might have to live with after. Dean could be right back in that place he'd been in before, watching Sam lie unconscious, wishing for him to wake up.

He knew it wasn't is choice to make though. "If you think it's worth it, I'll help you," he said. "Whatever you need, whatever comes after, I'll be there for it. I'll do whatever I can for you. I'm with you, even though I hate it."

Sam smiled slightly. "Thank you, Dean. Can you do it, Cas?"

"Yes," Castiel said carefully. "I can bring the memories back for you, but I want you to understand how dangerous this is. You really could be lost."

"Maybe. I think it's worth trying though. I might be lost, or I might be free."

"We should try," Dean said. "I can handle whatever happens after. Alfie and Elsie have said we've always got a place with them. Best case, we go back to them and stay while you see Doctor Platt. Worst case, they help take care of you until you're ready to come back."

"They're good people," Sam said.

"They are," Dean agreed. "The best."

Sam took a deep breath. "Then we should do it now before I lose my nerve. Cas?"

Castiel stood up. "We should go inside. You'll be more comfortable on the couch if you…"

If he slipped into a coma again. Dean shuddered at the thought.

Sam pushed up from his chair and walked inside. Dean followed, his footsteps leaden. He sat down beside Sam on the couch and put his hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you, Dean," Sam said. "For everything. I wouldn't have made it this far without you."

"Don't make it goodbye," Dean said. "It's not goodbye. We're going to get you through this."

"I know. Just… thank you."

"Are you ready?" Castiel asked.

"Yes," Sam said confidently. "Do what you need to do."

Castiel reached out a tentative hand and laid it on Sam's forehead. He closed his eyes for a moment, seeming to brace himself. "Good luck," he said gently.

Sam nodded and there was a moment of silence before Castiel's hand blazed with light and Sam began to scream, a long tearing sound that tore at Dean's heart as Sam's Hell flooded his mind.

* * *

 **So… When I start out with a story, I usually know where and how it will end. I didn't have that with this story. I didn't know how to fix Sam. It took a lot of thought and discussion, but eventually this was what I decided to try. Come back for the epilogue to see if it worked.**

 **Want to talk the latest epiosde? I'm lurking in my inbox.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	27. Epilogue

**Thank you Jenjoremy for all you've done for me and this story. You're so much more than a beta. You're a cheerleader, pre-reader, a mine of information, and a very special friend.**

 **Thank you Gredelina1 for always supporting me no matter what.**

 **Thank you all for coming on this journey with me.**

* * *

 _ **Epilogue**_

Sam sat slumped in the seat of the Impala, staring out of the window at the houses they were passing. It was a nice area but he barely noticed; his thoughts were consumed with other things.

Dean was on the phone, Castiel's voice coming through the crackling speaker.

" _We have the bone and the blood now."_

"And Crowley still doesn't know you're alive?" Dean asked.

" _No. They lied and said there is another angel they're using for the blood. I believe I am safe. Perhaps when Dick Roman is dead, he will feel forgiving."_

"We can hope," Dean said. "So, who's taking the shot?"

" _Annie and I each have a portion of the bone. Whichever one of us has the opportunity will take the shot. I am confident this will work, Dean. We are well prepared and have a lot of hunters backing us up."_

"I know," Dean said. "Just be careful, okay."

" _I will. I should go. The others are ready."_

"Okay. I'll see you real soon."

" _You will,"_ Castiel said confidently.

They exchanged goodbyes and Dean tucked the phone back in his shirt pocket. "They can do this," he said to himself.

He turned on the blinker and pulled them onto a new street. The houses slipped past them and they slowed as they reached a large house set back from the road at the end of the street. Dean stopped on the driveway and pulled on the parking brake.

"Ready?" he asked.

Sam nodded.

Dean climbed out and Sam imitated him. Dean headed up the path and steps to the door, glancing back at Sam expectantly. Sam followed him and waited as Dean knocked. There was the sound of locks disengaging and the door opened.

Elsie beamed at them. "You're here!" she said happily, stepping onto the porch and hugging Dean. "You made it."

"We did," Dean said, kissing her cheek and chuckling as she touched the spot and smiled at him.

She held his attention for a moment before turning to Sam. "Hello, Sam."

Sam grinned at her, his nerves dissolving as the painful memory left him. "Hello, Elsie."

Her eyes grew wet and she dabbed at them before deciding to throw caution to the wind and wrapping her arms around Sam. She clung to him for a moment and then pulled back and cupped his face in her hands. "You're really back. Dean told us, but I didn't let myself really believe. Look at you though. You're really here. All the way here."

Sam nodded. "I am."

"You need feeding up," she said, dabbing at her eyes. "I have a casserole in the oven, and I made some muffins for you to have now."

Sam laughed. He remembered food being something Elsie was passionate about.

She patted his cheek. "Come in. Alfie is waiting for you."

Sam followed her inside and through the hall to the sun room. Sam looked around the familiar room where he had spent so many days before, lost in himself.

"Elsie," Dean said quietly, his gaze focused on the wall.

Sam followed his gaze and saw there was a new framed picture that he hadn't seen before. Among the pictures of their family was a new painting of Sam and Dean. Sam's head was thrown back with laughter and Dean was staring at him with a happy, if a little wistful, smile. Sam supposed it was one of the moments from before, captured by Elsie's talented brush.

"Do you like it?" Elsie asked nervously.

"I love it," Dean said, and Sam nodded.

"I wanted you up there with the rest of our family," she said. "And that was such a special day. Now, come on. Alfie will be getting impatient."

They went outside to the garden where Alfie was pushing Izzy on the swing. Her eyes were closed; she seemed to just be enjoying the sensation of almost flying.

Alfie's face transformed into a wide smile as he saw them, and he rushed forward and shook their hands. "You made it at last," he said. "How are you?" Though the question was asked openly, he was looking intensely at Sam.

"I'm okay," Sam said. "Good even."

"Is it very difficult?" he asked.

"Sometimes."

He remembered every moment of his time in the Cage now. Lucifer still occasionally showed, and while Sam was sometimes debilitated by the things he saw, most of the time he could handle it without pain.

"I suppose it is," Alfie said thoughtfully. "It's why you're here after all. I have arranged your first appointment for Doctor Platt on Monday. He's looking forward to seeing you. We told him all about your 'recovery'."

"Thanks, Alfie," Dean said.

As the swing slowed, Izzy opened her eyes and looked around. "Grandpa?" she asked, possibly wondering where the pushing had gone. She caught sight of them standing together and she leapt from the still moving swing, stumbled slightly, and then rushed over to them. "Sam! Dean! You came home!"

"We did," Dean said.

Izzy smiled a gap-toothed smile at them and fixed her excited gaze on Sam. "Are you better? Not so tired now?"

"Much better," Sam said. "I only get tired sometimes now. I'm here to get completely better."

"Good," she said with a nod. "Then we can play. Will you push me on the swing? You're much taller than Grandpa, so I bet you can make me go really high."

Sam laughed. "I can, but we can't go too high."

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because you might fly off and I'm not sure your wings are as good as Tinkerbell's."

She giggled and chattered away as they walked to the swing set. "I love Tinkerbell. Her wings are pretty and she's Peter's best friend. My best friend is Emma. Who's yours?"

"My best friend?" Sam asked. "Hmm, I think it has to be Dean."

"He's your brother," she said.

"He is. He's all kinds of things for me." Brother, protector, supporter, defender against the nightmares. He was everything Sam needed and more.

"And he's the best?" Izzy asked.

Sam looked back across the yard at Dean where he stood with Alfie and Elsie. "Yes," he said. "He really is."

Dean was everything because he had given Sam the strength to fight to get his life back. It wouldn't be easy, but with Dean at his side, Alfie and Elsie, he was going to make it.

He was going to live.

* * *

 **So… What do you think? Sam isn't completely better, but he's healing and they're together again. That felt more real to me than a perfect magic fix. I know things for Castiel don't look good, but we all know he'll come out of that in the end, too.**

 **I have a new story. It's a S5 AU called** _ **Can't Find My Way Home**_ **and it's ready to go. It has been a labor of love that I have been working on for months and connected with in an intense way I haven't felt since my Brotherhood Verse. I really hope you'll give it a look.**

 **Summary:** Sam finds himself trapped in a time that isn't his own. Searching for a way to return to the present - and his brother - comes with many challenges and he's going to need friends, old and new, to help him along the way.

 **Until the next story…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


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